The Misplaced Potter 2
by chubby redburn
Summary: AU OOC. The story of Henry Porter continues. Fourteenyear old Henry faces new dangers and challenges at Hogwarts when an unknown enemy places him in the Triwizards Tournament.
1. Chapter 1

The Misplaced Potter 2

Chapter 1

_In which our hero returns_

Smoke from the locomotive trailed behind the train as the Hogwarts Express churned its way through lush green countryside of northern England carrying its cargo of students to their destination deep in the Scottish Highlands. In the distance, a portion of Hadrian's Wall snaked across the rolling hills. Overhead, two separate flights of Brent geese winged their way southward against the backdrop of an increasingly ominous looking sky but few eyes were on the natural or manmade wonders of Northumberland.

For some onboard, it was their first time riding the cars pulled by the scarlet-colored old-fashioned steam engine. They were excited, nervous, and impatient as they listened wide-eyed at the tales told by older students of a school filled with wonders, danger, traditions, fantastic creatures and teachers who have chained more then one misbehaving kid to the dungeon wall and left them there to rot.

For others, this was a journey to their final year at Hogwarts. They sat together for the most part, banishing anyone from their compartments not staring NEWTs in the face. Their conversations were quieter and more serious. Adulthood, so long a cherished dream, was nearly within their grasp. As the reality replaced the dream, the responsibilities and duties of that station became as apparent as the freedoms. Their nervousness and excitement was palatably different from that of the new kids but it was just as tangible on their faces.

One teenager on the train, however, was not spending the ride getting reacquainted with chums or telling tall tales to eleven year olds. Henry Porter methodically worked his way through the passenger cars eavesdropping on the babble of his fellow students. His magic artificial eyes, as green as the ones he was born with, took careful note of who was sitting with who, what they were discussing, and their composure. Occasionally he would stop for a quick word or two with someone or ask a question of someone else but mostly he listened as he slowly moved from car to car.

Few took any notice of him and none gave a second thought as to why he was walking the corridors. The misadventures of Henry's first term receded from the minds of nearly everyone as two uneventful years had past by. The quidditch stars, the prefects, the fashionable, the jokers, and the lovers readily took Henry's place in the collective consciousness of the Hogwarts student body. A condition both to Henry's liking and advantageous to his situation.

He had the deadliest wizard in Europe as his mortal enemy. Henry's only chance at survival was the mastery of all the normal subjects that Hogwarts offered as well as the secret and quasi-secret extracurricular training he was receiving from several of the professors. Hagrid created an outdoor adventure club that taught woodcraft and survival. The headmaster, an expert in several forms of unarmed combat, turned a large unused room in Hogwarts castle into a proper dojo. Professor Moody laid out several pistes in another room where his dueling society met.

Many of his classmates, most of whom thought them nothing more then something fun to do, joined Henry in the various after class clubs but Henry's training went further then did theirs. He alone undertook clandestine lessons in legilimency and occlumency in addition to learning some of the basic auror skills such as stealth and tracking as well as mastering some of the more exotic attributes of his artificial eyes. In addition, Professor McGonagall promised Henry that his animagus training would commence during the next few weeks.

Henry stopped before the sliding door of the last compartment on the final passenger car. He paused briefly feeling the protective ward that was in place. It had an unfamiliar tingle but it allowed him to pass through into the company of his friends.

Everyone looked up as he came inside. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat opposite of each other by the window. Chris Gallatin, Henry's cousin sat between Hermione and Ginny, Ron's vivacious younger sister who was as close beside Chris as she could get without crawling onto his lap. Henry eased himself onto the empty space alongside Luna Lovegood; the compartment's only other occupant.

"Who erected the ward?" Henry asked.

"I did. Why? Is something wrong with it?" Ron demanded nervously.

Ron, despite being a young wizard of much promise, was insecure, which was an odd trait since the rest of the Weasleys were very confident people especially Ginny and her older twin brothers Fred and George who were so to the point of cockiness.

"No-OH."

Henry's friends burst into laughter as his voice broke.

"No, nothing was wrong with it," a slightly embarrassed Henry continued. "It did not feel like one of Hermione's or Chris' so I was curious."

"You can tell who cast a spell?" Ginny asked in surprise.

Henry shrugged. "Not with most spells but some such as wards leave a fingerprint if you will. Professor Moody said that aurors prefer to use ward cubes because they leave a generic impression."

"I've read about ward cubes but I have never seen a set." Hermione said. "Perhaps we should inquire about getting some of them."

"I have a set," Luna said rustling through her large leather purse The cubes she extracted from a soft felt bag looked like four large metallic six-sided die with altering faces of gold and silver.

"Where did you get these," Hermione asked as she examined the cubes avidly.

"They were my mother's," she replied. "She had them in place the day she died which is why I wasn't killed by the explosion even though I was in the kitchen with her."

The blunt matter-of-fact manner in which Luna made her statement chilled Hermione who was certain that if she had seen her mother killed before her eyes, she would be in St. Mungo's psychiatric ward not calmly injecting the event into conversations. The strange blonde girl made a habit of startling Hermione beginning with their first meeting. Luna had been at Hogwarts only three weeks when she strolled over to the library table at which Maggie, Hermione, Chris and Henry were sitting. She slowly traced the lightning bolt-shaped scar on Henry's forehead with her fingernail.

"So faint yet so obvious," Luna said. "Do you know who you are?"

His friends nearly panicked but Henry only smiled. If he were frightened or perturbed, he showed no signs of it

"Yes, I do," he replied. "But do you know who you are?"

With a laugh, Luna familiarly sat down beside him and introduced herself. Before an hour had passed, she was part of the gang as far as the others were concerned but for Hermione warming to Luna was a slow process, a process made difficult by Luna's personality being the antithesis of Hermione's own. Luna was intuition and faith while Hermione was reason and logic.

"I know that you find her odd but it's good to have people around you who don't think like you do. It causes you to reevaluate what you hold to be true," Henry once told Hermione in explanation as to why he so often sought Luna's opinion. "Besides, I just plain like her."

Hermione now liked her as well. As she spent time with her, Hermione came to know that Luna's unconventional façade hid a strong, deeply loyal, highly intelligent and very mature young woman. Furthermore, despite Hermione's initial fears, the _Quibbler _had yet to print a single word about Henry. Luna could keep a secret.

"So did your reconnaissance uncover anything important or was it just who is cheating on whom?" Chris joked.

"Dish the dirt," added Ginny roguishly.

"Prurient matters aside…," began Henry.

"Prig," Chris interrupted with a laugh.

"Beyond the private lives of our classmates the main topics of conversation was Ireland winning the World Cup," Henry said ignoring his cousin's teasing but not entirely inaccurate description of him. "And that a Triwizard tournament is going to be held at Hogwarts this year."

"A Triwizard tournament? Really?" Ron asked excitedly. "So that's what everyone's been so coy about."

"They haven't held one of those in decades," Ginny said simultaneously. "Almost a century."

"According to _Hogwarts, a History_," said Chris. "At least one champion died in almost every tournament."

"That's why they stopped having them," Hermione earnestly said. "The best and the brightest were being lost in a meaningless manner before they could achieve their potential. I wonder why it's being revived."

"What I wondered is why do only Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang send a champion to the tournament. Why not Appelbosje and Celareval also?" Henry said referring to the Dutch and Italian magic academies.

"From what I read, Celareval refused to participate from the beginning because they thought it was foolish to risk the lives of their students," Hermione explained. "And Appelbosje did not even exist when the first tournaments were held. After its establishment it was excluded from the later tournaments because the other three schools did not consider Appelbosje to be on an equal footing to them being so new."

Henry chuckled incredulously. "I suppose that because I grew up in the United States I find it difficult to think of anything four hundred years old as new."

"At least you're starting to sound like a proper Brit now even if vaguely Scottish but what's four hundred years in Britain? We have nineteen hundred year old roman ruins there beyond our window," Chris replied pointing to Hadrian's Wall.

"Not to mention Stonehenge," Luna said.

"It's a different frame of reference to be sure," Hermione quickly answered back fearing Luna might launch into a bizarre explanation about the mysterious ring of stones.

"How do they pick a champion?" Ron asked speculatively.

"Forget it, brother mine," Ginny laughed. "No way are they going to choose a student as young as us. The champion will come from the sixth or seventh form."

"It would be cool though," he mused.

"It would be insane," Hermione insisted emphatically.

"Oh, I don't know. Face to face with a rampaging cockatrice sounds like a spot of fun," quipped Chris.

Hermione snorted. "If I'm going to risk my life, it will be for something far, far more important then a contest between schools."

"What else is on the minds of our fellow passengers?" Chris asked moving away from the topic.

"The riot at the quidditch world cup, of course," Henry responded. "Several of our classmates were there. It wasn't pretty from what I gathered."

"It wasn't," Ron grunted coldly shuttering at the memories of that frenzied night. "I got separated from Ginny in the chaos. I was so scared for her. I about cried when I finally found her."

"He nearly broke my ribs hugging me," Ginny remembered warmly. "But it was alright because I knew that I was safe since my terrier was there beside me."

"Your terrier!" Chris gleefully howled

Ron groaned raising a hand to his forehead. "Ginny, you swore that you would never use that nickname at Hogwarts."

"Sorry, it slipped out," his sister replied without contrition.

"Why terrier?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Many summers ago we were in the village when some older boys started making rude comments about my red hair," Ginny began with a wide smile on her lips. "Ron went after them even though there were three of them and they must have been seven or eight years old while Ron was only six. They were thumping him as you can imagine but Ron wouldn't quit. One of the men who broke up the fight called Ron a terrier. Ever since then, he's been my overly protective terrier."

"That's sweet," Luna said patting Ron's thigh.

"It would have been sweeter if I had kicked their asses for getting me stuck with that name," he grumbled.

"So that's why you're so enthusiastic about Dumbledore's martial arts classes," Chris said.

Ron shook his head. "Not really. Unlike the rest of you, I'm not that smart. After spending all day getting headaches trying to stay afloat, I like going to the dojo, throwing the brain into idle and just sweating."

"You are not stupid, Ronald," Luna solemnly insisted. "You should not persist in thinking otherwise. Pour yourself into your dreams and create a new reality."

The lanky redhead shrugged turning his eyes to the passing countryside. Luna made him nervous. He was certain that her silver-grey eyes saw directly into his mind and soul while they never revealed what she was feeling. Furthermore, her comments would frequently cause him to pause and reflect, usually on very deep subjects. His life, Ron felt, was complicated enough without striving for self-awareness.

"Were there many who thought that the reappearance of Death Eaters was a good thing?" Hermione asked.

"A minority from what I overheard," Henry confirmed. "But a larger minority then I would have suspected. A fair number of hushed conversations were in progress as I walked along. There were a lot of rather smug looking people and not just the ones that you would expect to be sympathetic to Voldemort."

"It cannot be that unanticipated considering that the _Daily Prophet _has been printing subtle anti-muggle and anti-muggleborn articles for nearly a year now," Hermione replied despondently. "Such a campaign is bound to have an effect."

"They are doing just what Fudge is telling them to do," Ron angrily stated. "All of that dung is coming directly from his office. He's becoming obsessed with the 'purity' of magical British community."

"He isn't a Death Eater, is he?" asked Chris.

"No," Ron replied. "He's merely a bigot which is bad enough in my opinion."

"He may not be a Death Eater but his policies are furthering many of their objectives nonetheless," Hermione pointed out. "He's dividing the community at a time that it needs to be united."

"History is full with examples of foolish leaders doing just that, which is usually followed by disaster," Chris replied forlornly. "Live and let live seems to be a lesson that must be learned again and again."

"I hope that it isn't necessary for us to tell you three that we think that prejudice against muggles and muggleborns is wrong," Ginny said. "Ron and I can trace our family back for generations without finding a muggle in the direct line but what does that mean, really? We get nothing handed to us for it. We have to learn what everyone else has to if we are going to take our place in the community."

"Yesterday's magic will not do today's spell," Luna said quoting an old witch's adage about the uselessness of excessive pride in one's ancestors.

"We know that you three aren't bigots," Hermione reassured her friends. "We don't hold you responsible for what other pure bloods may think or say."

A loud thunderclap immediately stifled their conversation. Midday became dark as evening when a strident wind buffeted their car announcing the arrival of the storm that had been threatening for hours. Large raindrops fell in sheets from a black sky franticly pelting the window and sending a chill through the pane. As a gloom enveloped the compartment, Ron stood and lit the compartment's lantern.

"An ill omen," Luna intoned eyeing the murkiness outside.

"Naught but a rainstorm," Hermione countered briskly.

Luna smiled politely but chose not to reply. Instead, she began reading her arithmancy course book in the warm pleasant glow of the lamp. Hermione swore silently. It bothered her that she challenged nearly everything that Luna said but something about the young woman compelled her to offer rational explanations to Luna's airy pronouncements. It bordered on rudeness especially toward one that she considered a friend but Hermione could not stop herself.

Henry stood and stretched.

"Leaving us so soon?" Chris asked.

"The WC," Henry casually replied. "The rain has triggered a primal need."

Laughing, Chris also stood. "It does have that effect, doesn't it? Lead on, cuz."

He followed his cousin down the corridor toward the lavatory. The aisle was shadowed, lit only where lantern light poured from the compartment doors but it was not depressing to Chris' mind. The rumble of the thunder and howl of the wind were strong but not enough to drown out the clacking of the train wheels, which provided a pleasant counterpoint to the gentle rhythmic rocking of the car.

"If it's raining like this at Hogwarts then I pity the first years," Chris said waving at the downpour. "I wouldn't care to attempt crossing the lake in this weather."

"Think about Hagrid," Henry replied over his shoulder. "Magic boats or not, that's a lot of man for a small craft on a choppy lake."

Draco Malfoy exited the lavatory as they approached. A quick, disdainful glance was all that he spared the cousins before turning away from them striding toward his own compartment.

"I love you, too, Malfoy," Chris sarcastically said under his breath.

"Forgiveness, cousin," Henry kindly admonished. "As you said a few moments ago, live and let live. Hatred cannot be answered with hatred if the world is going to get any better."

"That's a beautiful sentiment, Henry, and a true one," Chris replied as they stopped before the lavatory door. "But try telling that to Lord V."

"I wish I could," he plaintively said his soft voice carrying no further then his cousin's ears. "I'd give every last galleon I have in Gringott's if he would listen."

"I know that you would, cuz," Chris agreed compassionately. "But it is just not going to happen."

"Yeah, I know," Henry sighed as he slid open the door.

Theo Nott was washing his hands when they entered the room. Unlike his just departed fellow Slytherin, Theo tossed a friendly nod at the pair.

"Hiya," he said. "Soon as it started to rain, I had to rush in here."

Chris and Henry laughed breaking the somberness of the moment.

"Same here," Chris replied.

"Hi, Theo," Henry said. "Did you have a good holiday?"

Henry liked Theodore Nott and thought Theo felt similarly toward him but Theo's persona did not allow Henry to consider him a friend. Theo was a lone wolf. The weedy Slytherin had no other choice. Despite the fact that his father escaped punishment in the aftermath of Voldemort's downfall, it was no secret that the elder Nott was one of the Dark Lord's most fervent followers. Theo wanted nothing to do with the Death Eaters but outright defiance could get him killed so he walked a very tight line. A public friendship with a muggleborn was not an option open to him.

Theo surreptitiously glanced at the two cousins at the urinals. Not for the first time he speculated as to who Henry Porter was exactly. He knew that Henry was muggleborn raised mostly in America. The events of the first year showed that he had courage. He was among the top students in their form and active in several extracurricular clubs like Theo himself. Over the course of three years, soft-spoken boy had proven himself a gentleman in the truest sense. He treated everyone with respect and courtesy.

Other then that, all that Theo knew about him was that Henry was highly skilled in the art of extracting information from people without seeming to do so. It dawned on Theo late in the spring that he was effectively Henry's mole in Slytherin House and had been for the entire year. Henry was not a gossip or for that matter did not even talk all that much so why the thirst to know what was going on in the other houses?

"It was a fairly good break but I'm glad to be going back to Hogwarts," Theo said in answer to Henry's question. "Yours?"

"It was good," Henry responded as he finished up. "We bought a colt that I believe will prove to be a very solid stallion."

"A Guineas/Derby winner?" Theo asked. He was pleased to see the look of surprise on Henry's face. It was rare to catch him off-guard. He stepped back allowing Henry to use the basin.

"Probably not that good but it's possible," Henry allowed opening the tap. "I did not know that you followed thoroughbred racing. I hadn't met a wizard yet that was interested in the sport. "

"Mum's mad about it," he replied. "Flat racing especially and since the divorce, she can indulge her passion without listening to the old man going on about it being beneath us. Let me tell you that when it comes to betting, she knows horses better then most bookmakers. She loses as often as a hot day in January."

Henry dried his hands. "If circumstances permit perhaps the two of you can drop by the farm next summer."

"Perhaps," Theo said noncommittally before changing the subject to something he thought that Henry would want to know. "Did you ever hear of Dolores Umbridge?"

"Ministry bureaucrat," Henry replied moving away from the basin to let Chris at it. "I've seen her name mentioned in the _Daily Prophet_ a few times. Undersecretary for something or other. I've forgotten what."

"Well, now she's the newly created Undersecretary for Magic Education," Theo said. "From Draco Malfoy's gloating, I gather that she thinks that Hogwarts should be remodeled to something nearer to Durmstrang."

"Which means?"

"Durmstrang doesn't admit muggleborn students for one thing," Chris replied.

"Hell, the half-and-half's would probably be excluded, at least on a selective basis," Theo retorted. "And they don't teach Defense against the Dark Arts at Durmstrang, they teach the dark arts themselves."

"Isn't Hogwarts independent of the Ministry?" Henry asked.

"In theory," Theo confirmed. "But if Fudge wants to make life miserable for the individual members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, he can. They'll get the message quick enough."

Henry frowned. "I don't know why they would exclude the muggleborn kids. They do as well at Hogwarts as the wizardborn kids and from what I can see the continuous infusion of muggleborns and mixed marriages help to keep the magical community vibrant."

Theo laughed harshly. "Henry, you're old enough to realize that some people don't clutter their minds with facts. Scratch the surface of any pure blood fanatic and you'll find an unreformed druid who yearns for the ancient days when they ruled Britain by fear and the open use of magic. The point that the practice of pure bloods marrying only pure bloods left the druids too few in number to keep the Romans out of Britain never occurs to them."

"It's always something," Henry groaned.

"To use one of your American sayings," Chris said. "Ain't that the truth, brother."

"Yeah, it is but don't let the buggers get you down," Theo encouragingly replied. "I'll see ya."

The three teens exited the lavatory, parting ways in the aisle. Henry remained silent mulling over all that he had gleamed that day. One of Professor Moody's mantras was 'anticipate your enemy and get there before he does.' A pithy axiom but Henry did not have full confidence in his ability to foresee what one action meant in terms of an overall strategy especially when those who were making the moves were far older and far, far more experienced then was he.

Hermione noticed Henry's sober expression as soon as he reentered their compartment. She silently damned Voldemort. The Dark Lord, who had robbed Henry of his birth parents, was now robbing him of what remained of his childhood. A fourteen-year-old boy should spend his time thinking about girls and school not learning how to kill. Henry was strong but he should not have to shoulder such a burden. No one should.

Henry caught the look of worry on Hermione's face. He gave her a small smile as he sat down beside her.

"I'm fine," he said to the girl that had become a surrogate big sister for him. "Honestly."

Hermione briefly drew his hand into hers. "Of course you are."

"There's a new Undersecretary for Magic Education," Henry announced. "Dolores Umbridge."

"It's not just a new undersecretary but a new department entirely," Ron informed him.

"Dad thinks that the Ministry is going to try to take control of Hogwarts," Ginny added as she played footsy with Chris.

"Do you think that the three things are related?" Henry asked. "I mean Umbridge's appointment, the tournament, and the public reemergence of the Death Eaters."

"It would depend on whose idea it was to hold the tournament," Chris said after a few moments thought. "But, offhand, I would say no. I think that at this time the Death Eaters, the Ministry, and Dumbledore's organization are all making opening gambits independently and not reacting to each other."

"Dumbledore's organization?" Henry asked.

"I'm sure that he has one," Chris asserted. "He is, in many ways, bound to Hogwarts so he would need people to investigate stuff and undertake certain missions."

"It's called the Order of the Phoenix," Ginny said. "Mum and Dad are part of it."

"We're not supposed to talk about it," Ron admonished her.

Ginny snorted. "They can guess most of it anyway and besides we don't have any major secrets among us."

Four minds immediately flashed on the big secret that the Weasley siblings did not know; that Henry was _the boy who lived_.

"So how is the tournament an opening gambit, do you think?" Hermione asked quickly.

"If those who are generally suspected of being Death Eaters or Voldemort sympathizers truly are such then they number among the wealthiest of wizarding families which puts a lot of money at Lord V's disposal and money buys influence. The Ministry being the legitimate source of authority in magical Britain has power, all of which leaves Dumbledore out in the cold. I doubt if the Order of the Phoenix is all that large so he's going to need allies," Chris replied. "The tournament would be a good way for him to establish contact with wizards and witches outside of Britain without the appearance of doing so."

"But if you can figure that out, I'm sure that Voldemort and the Ministry can also," Hermione pointed out.

"No doubt," Chrisreplied. "But they can't publicly call Dumbledore on it as long as it looks like nothing more then a revival of the Triwizards tournament. Otherwise their motives are called into question by the community at large."

"So you think that magical Britain is divided into three camps each opposed to one another," Ginny said.

Chris shook his head. "Not really. The three groups are very small. The vast majority of witches and wizards will simply wait until one or another gains the upper hand and then will go along with what ever direction that group takes Britain."

"That's cynical," Ginny replied. "You make it sound as if most people don't care."

"I'm not cynical but one thing that history does teach us is that most people actually don't care about the big picture until it impacts them directly and then only are stirred to action when it is an adverse effect," Chris replied. "I'm willing to bet that half the people on this train could not tell you who the current Minister for Magic is but can recite the entire lineup of the _Appleby Arrows _or give you a concise biography of every member of the _Weird Sisters._"

"You're most likely right but I'll tell you what else history teaches us, Chris," Ron spoke up. "It teaches us that in the end it doesn't matter. The world is nothing but strife. Dumbledore killed Grindelwald only to have Voldemort rise up. Soon, one or the other will die and someone will take the fallen one's place and it will go on."

"So, you're going to stick your head in the sand with the rest of them?" asked Chris almost curtly.

"No," Ron replied. "When the day comes, I'll take my place in the Order of the Phoenix, fight and likely wind up dead some dark night. In the meantime, I'll take what fun I canI am going to listen to the _Weird Sisters,_ cheer on the _Chudley Cannons _and hopefully get a chance or two to explore the differences between men and women."

"If you feel all is in vain anyway then why would you bother to fight in the first place?" Hermione asked.

"Opinion is divided on that subject," a grinning Ron answered. "In question is whether I'm a fool, a damned fool or a complete idiot."

The others chuckled save for Luna.

"Ronald, I truly wish you would stop saying that sort of thing about yourself," she said sincerely. "Besides, we must havefaith that what we do does matter and that good will ultimately triumph over evil."

"We can but hope," Ginny said softly.

"I think that we are doing more then just hoping," Chris began confidently. "We may be a small group but each of us is pushing ourselves beyond most of our classmates. We will be a match for the Death Eaters when the day comes."

"The alternative is unacceptable," Hermione added over the chorus of assent.

Henry eased back on the bench. He battled daily against melancholy, against the belief that as Ron said it was nothing but endless strife and nothing mattered. Dumbledore told him that fate had cast him as an avatar of light; a physical embodiment of good yet Henry could not avoid seeing himself as an awkward, inexperienced adolescent. He trained hard and learned all he could but who was he when compared to the Dark Lord? Who was he to think that a kid could best the Ministry?

The _esprit de corps_ of his friends, however, cheered him.

"I must stop thinking that I am alone in this," Henry thought. "My friends are with me. Perhaps since our motivation is not lust for power or intolerance we may be somehow more then our numbers, a whole that is greater then the sum of its parts. Maybe we can win."

Abruptly, Henry pushed away thoughts of conflict.

"Tomorrow will bring what tomorrow will bring," he mused in the quiet of his mind. "Sufficient onto the day is the evil thereof."

Feeling safe in the company of his closest friends, Henry closed his eyes and contentedly settled even deeper on the cushioned bench. He blocked out the world centering his thoughts on a tiny raven-haired girl who waited like a fairy tale princess in a magic castle.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. All applicable copyrights are retained by J. K. Rowling and her various publishers worldwide.

Chapter 2

_In which we learn of Maggie's difficult summer_

From her apartment in the castle, Professor McGonagall heard the whistle of the Hogwarts Express over the drumming of the rain on the windows. The students had arrived. She quickly adjusted her new robe. Maroon was not a colour she would have chosen herself and its fanciful silver workings were somewhat baroque for her tastes but it was a gift from Albus Dumbledore. He would be hurt if she did not wear the robe at least once and the start-of-term banquet would be a very public display of it. Besides, her fashion connoisseur daughter assured her that maroon was a very good shade for her to wear.

"It projects a kinder air without being frivolous," she had told her when she first tried it on. "That'll help at your initial meeting with the first year kids. They're are nervous enough, especially the muggleborns, without having you looking as if you're sizing them up for a cauldron."

"I'm not that bad," Minerva protested.

Maggie laughed. "You are fully aware of just how stern you can look, Mum. I'll wager you spent a lot of time in front of your mirror practicing that perfect expression to reduce a student to pudding."

"Some," she admitted laughing along with her.

With one last tug at a sleeve, Minerva McGonagall turned from her full-length looking glass in search of her daughter. Since the school term was beginning, Maggie removed most of her every day use possessions to the Hufflepuff dormitory but left what she was going to wear to the feast in the McGonagall apartment so that she could spend a few more cherished minutes with her mother before class began in earnest. After decades of interacting with young people and their parents, Minerva realized how fortunate she was to have such a close relationship with her daughter. It caused Maggie some problems vis-à-vis a few of her fellow students having her mother as a teacher but both appreciated that they were near one another, a luxury that no other parent and child had at Hogwarts.

Minerva knocked on the door before entering her daughter's now nearly bare bedroom. Sitting at her small vanity, Maggie glanced over her shoulder at her mother through droopy but brilliant blue eyes. She awarded her mother a smile as she continued to brush her thick ebon hair. The customary ponytail that she had worn for years was gone. In its place was a chic pageboy that artfully framed her face.

"I'm nearly ready," Maggie said running her brush across her head one final time.

She stood and smoothed the simple, sleeveless, black gown that she was wearing. As with the rest of her wardrobe, the dress was one that Maggie had made herself. As she had done with her ponytail, she had over the course of the summer gotten rid almost of all her clothes saving only two pairs of jeans. Striving for a more mature appearance, Maggie plunged into a frenzy of sewing. She modeled her new style on the fashions worn by the young professional and university women that she saw on their several recent trips to London and Edinburgh. To Minerva's disquiet, black displaced blue as the predominate colour in Maggie's new attire.

Minerva did catch a flash of blue though when her daughter turned from the vanity. Sparkling on her left hand was the antique marquise cut sapphire with diamonds ring that Henry Porter gave to Maggie last month for her birthday. The ring's companion pieces, a pair of sapphire earrings, were undoubtedly on her lobes even if hidden by her hair. Professor McGonagall was uncomfortable with the gift even though the old-fashioned Henry had sought and received her permission before buying the set for Maggie. While raising Maggie's spirits tremendously at a time when she needed something positive, the gift was yet another indication that the relationship between the two was deeper then normally expected at their ages. The fact that Maggie choose to wear the ring on her left hand spoke volumes. Minerva privately lamented her daughter's romance with Henry knowing the frightful odds that he faced but would not deny that he was in all other aspects everything that she could wish for in her daughter's boyfriend.

"Let me help you with your robe, dearest," Professor McGonagall said lifting the garment from the bed. "Where's your hat?"

Maggie slid her arms through the sleeves. "Shall we say that I mislaid it?"

Minerva chuckled. "I dare say that the MacNarney girls will find that they mislaid theirs as well."

Bess and Bridget MacNarney, Maggie's best friends, both opted to get their hair cut after they saw Maggie's new coif. Bess went with a bob while her sister chose a tucked under pageboy. Maggie raved about their new look. Professor McGonagall viewed the MacNarney Twins with a more jaundiced eye. She forewarned her colleague Professor Sprout, the head of Hufflepuff House to which Bess and Bridget belonged, that the new styles aged the rapidly developing girls several years overnight.

"It would not surprise me," Maggie coyly replied fastening her robe. "They are always forgetting things."

"Spin around," Minerva said. "Let's take a look at you."

She ran an eye over Maggie. She was clad in unrelieved black, flats, stockings, dress and robe. The dark clothing combined with her pale skin, raven hair, perpetually half-closed eyes, and tiny, waifish frame served to give her an ethereal appearance. The nebulous melancholy that never quite left her countenance anymore only heighten that impression but none of that hid one simple fact.

"You're beautiful," Minerva said

"Thank you," Maggie replied abruptly hugging her mother fiercely. "You're beautiful too, Mum. I love you."

Returning the hug, Minerva bent her face down and kissed the top of her daughter's head. "I love you also, my dearest one."

Maggie clung to her mother for several heartbeats before releasing her with a deep sigh. "One last good day."

Professor McGonagall frowned. "I'm afraid that one escaped me."

"It was one last good day," Maggie repeated forlornly. "Right now nobody here knows about me but the two of us and the headmaster. In the morning, the girls in the dorm will see me injecting myself and by this time tomorrow, the whole school will know that I'm a freak."

Minerva grabbed her daughter by the shoulders. "Angst is very tiresome, Margaret Rhoswen. You are not a freak. You have an obstacle that you must overcome, nothing more. Shout it from the Astronomy tower. Write it on the walls of the Great Hall. Let the whole school know. Let the whole wide world know."

Maggie lowered her head. "I don't care about the whole world," she said in a small voice.

"You're apprehensive about Henry's reaction," her mother guessed.

"Yes," Maggie replied in an even softer voice. "I should have told him at my birthday party."

The raw naked anguish was unmistakable. It cut deeply into Minerva McGonagall's psyche to see her daughter in so much pain.

"Perhaps but I believe that you do the lad an injustice thinking him so shallow as to turn his back on you over something like this," Professor McGonagall said sagely although she could not stop herself from thinking that it perhaps it would be for the best in the end if he did.

"Do you really think so, mum?" Maggie asked hopefully.

The older woman sighed deeply. "Yes, I do, Maggie. You undoubtedly know that I do not like the strength of the bond that the two of you have forged but it has nothing to do with Henry himself. He is a fine decent young man. One who will see your problem as I do, as an obstacle. He will see nothing shameful about your condition."

"What is her condition?" Professor McGonagall asked the healers at St. Mungo's Hospital in late June. Increasingly concerned that Maggie was not physically developing, she took her to London to see if anything was truly wrong with her daughter or if she was just naturally tiny.

Ian Sands cleared his throat uncomfortably. He was a skilled Healer and, at fifty-three, had years of experience behind him but in the presence of his old transfiguration teacher, he was as uneasy as he had been in her classroom as a teenager. The unnerving image of a lioness with her cub would not leave his mind as he sat across from the head of Gryffindor House. He clutched at the results of the battery of tests that they ran on Maggie as if they were talismans.

"There's a specialist in Edinburgh I believe that you should take Maggie to see," he said hesitantly. "One Doctor Neala Murray. She has a private practice in addition to being attached to the University of Edinburgh."

"A doctor?" Minerva exclaimed. "A muggle doctor? Are you serious?"

The healer shrugged apologetically. "It's unusual, I'll admit. In most instances, the muggle medical professionals cannot come close to duplicating what we do here at St. Mungo's but in one area, they are far better then we are and Dr. Murray is one of the best in her field in all of Britain. If it helps, she's married to a wizard."

The professor looked at her former pupil in askance. "Enlighten me, Mr. Sands. Just where do you fall short of muggles?"

"Genetic disorders."

"Genetic disorders?" a dumbfound Minerva echoed. "Do you have any idea what is wrong with my daughter or are you simply clutching at straws?"

"No, ma'am, I assure you that I am not clutching at straws," he firmly replied. "I am almost certain as to what is Maggie's problem."

"Turner Syndrome," Dr. Murray confirmed two weeks later in her surgery's consultation room. She was a tall slender woman with a brisk but friendly manner. Her accent betrayed her Galloway origins, which scarcely made her Scottish in Professor McGonagall's opinion, but the doctor's air of sincerity and competency won her confidence.

"Which is?" Maggie and her mother asked simultaneously.

"A genetic abnormality," Dr. Murray replied. "What happened, Maggie, is that you were born with forty-five chromosomes instead of forty-six. Whereas most females have two X chromosomes, you have but one."

"Does that mean I'm going to die?" a frighten Maggie asked.

The doctor smiled kindly. "We are all going to die one day but you are in no danger of that anytime soon. The most common life-threatening conditions arising from TS are heart problems but your heart is strong and healthy. You do have a horseshoe kidney as a result of your monosomy but it is functioning properly so there are no concerns there."

"Is this Turner Syndrome why Maggie isn't growing?" Minerva asked.

"Yes, Professor, but it is more then just that," the doctor answered. "Your daughter is not only not growing; she is not entering puberty. Physiologically, Maggie is approximately nine years old."

"But I'll be fourteen in a few weeks," Maggie declared.

"Your chronological age is immaterial," Dr. Murray said. "Your body is not, truly it cannot, produce the hormones necessary for either growth or sexual maturation. Simply put, without treatment, TS will not allow you to become a woman."

"I'm going to be a little girl forever?" Maggie squeaked.

"The key phrase in that sentence was 'without treatment', Maggie," replied Dr. Murray assertively. "There is no cure but with a regimen of hormones, the condition can be treated and you can eventually become an adult but I must stress that we are talking about a several years-long process."

"What must be done?" Professor McGonagall asked.

The Great Hall was in readiness for the banquet. The ever-diligent house elves scrubbed the large room from wall to wall, touched up the lacquer on the chairs and tables, and rid the corners of any errant spider webs. Flames danced gaily in the fireplaces their bright light reflecting off the shiny goblets resting on the tables beside golden plates and traditional cutlery. Floating in precise rows overhead hundreds of candles burned banishing darkness from even the remotest of crannies and filling the air with a sweet honeysuckle scent. The Headmaster tweaked the enchanted ceiling earlier in the afternoon playfully adding a comet to the night sky. It may be storming outside but a clear starry canopy would cover the banquet inside.

Maggie was standing at the far end of Hufflepuff table. Her face was calm but she betrayed her anxiety by continuously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She did not relish that she probably would become an object of interest, pity, or sickeningly sweet benevolence to many of the students and perhaps the target of cruel jests by a few but she knew that she could carry such burdens. Henry's reaction worried her. So much was already on his shoulders; could he handle the added load of a girlfriend who would not be a woman for several years? Would he? She knew that he loved her but was his love strong enough?

From the corner of her eye, she caught a smirking Peeves hovering a few meters from her. He had an armful of water balloons.

"Peeves," Maggie began conversationally. "How often have you heard the Bloody Baron say that I reminded him of his favorite niece?"

The smirk vanished from the poltergeist's face. "Often," he mumbled before gliding quickly away.

"If only he could be thwarted so easily every time," Professor Sprout said scooting up the aisle. "Hello, Maggie."

"Hello, Professor," she replied bobbing her head respectfully. "I know that you have been here for several days but I kept missing you."

The older woman laughed ruefully pushing a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "The greenhouses were in more disarray then usual. I really should get here at least two weeks before classes resume but every year a colleague of mine somewhere in the world has some new exotic plant that they simply must show me. I spent most of the summer in South America but I brought back some specimens that will boggle my NEWT students and Professor Snape."

"They sound interesting, Professor," Maggie politely replied. "Any chance some of the younger students will get a peek at them?"

"I'll be sure that some of the more enthusiastic of my younger students such as yourself and Neville Longbottom will get a tour some Saturday before too long," Professor Sprout promised.

"I look forward to it," she said.

Maggie saw the botanist sober. She instantly knew that her mother had informed Professor Sprout about her condition. Maggie steeled herself. She did not want or need the professor's sympathy but knew that the tenderhearted teacher would naturally extend a compassionate hand to her. She meant well but they truly were not that close. She was her teacher and nothing more.

"Since I'm your head of house your mother has just made me aware of your, uh, difficulty," Professor Sprout said slowly. "If you have any problems arise especially with the other students please come to me."

"I will professor but I don't foresee any problems." Maggie lied through a smile.

"Probably not. Hufflepuffs are the butt of many jokes but as a group, I would dare say that they are the most decent, most considerate, and most compassionate students here," Professor Sprout declared.

"I agree, ma'am," Maggie honestly replied. "Despite the bias toward us, I rather be in Hufflepuff then any other house."

Smiling hugely, the professor squeezed Maggie's shoulder affectionately. There was a bias toward her charges from the other students and sadly, from some of her colleagues as well who despite a mountain of evidence to the contrary remained convinced that Hufflepuff was a dumping ground for idiots but Professor Sprout had yet to hear a single Hufflepuff express regret over the Sorting Hat placing them there.

"So, speaking as a teenage girl, Maggie," Professor Sprout said. "Do you think that your mother was being an alarmist when she warned me about the MacNarney Sisters?"

Maggie grinned wickedly. "The boys won't know what hit them. They'll be queuing up clamouring for dates. There will be a lot of jealous girls at Hogwarts this term."

"Please tell me that you're exaggerating," Professor Sprout said in a pained tone.

Maggie shook her head. "I'm sorry, ma'am but I'm not. Their new hairstyles are very flattering and they purposely made dresses and blouses that emphasized the fact that they now have some serious cleavage. Their freckles have faded, their skin is clear, their teeth are perfect and they have those husky voices which always seem to drive guys wild."

The professor groaned. "And there are two of them. I best check the enchantment on the girl's hall. Good night, Maggie."

Her shoulders sagged as she scurried away.

Maggie wanted to reassure her head of house that she need not concern herself with Bess and Bridget but both had made it clear to her that they were very interested in boys and were not under the proper circumstances averse to letting events go beyond kissing.

"It's not like we gonna spread our legs in the common room and shout 'here it is, lads', ya know." Bridget said one day during August while the three of them were talking in the sisters' bedroom in Hogsmeade.

"And neither are we racing one another to see who loses her virginity first," Bess added

"But with the right lad at the right time and place, sure, why not?" Bridget continued. "They lecture us enough at Hogwarts on birth control so they must know that some teenagers have sex."

"Aren't you worried about getting a reputation?" Maggie asked.

The MacNarney Sisters laughed.

"Look at your friend, Barbara Thane," Bess said. "You and I both know that her virginity was a distant memory by the time she left Hogwarts but no one thought of her as a tramp. That was because she maintained control. When she slept with some guy, it was a privilege and he knew it. The girls who get the reputations are those pathetic creatures who use their bodies in a vain attempt to gain acceptance and self-esteem."

"Aye, they just get used and tossed aside again and again," Bridget agreed.

The massive doors to the Great Hall swung open magically. From down the corridor, the growing thunder of conversations, shouts, and footfalls rolled over Maggie heralding the arrival of her classmates. Like a black tide, the robed students crashed into the hall peeling away from one another as they veered automatically toward their house tables.

Maggie remained where she was as the multitude poured in. As they filed past, her Hufflepuff housemates as well as some from Gryffindor greeted her warmly, complimenting her on her new look. Several even hugged and bestowed friendly kisses on her. Maggie appreciated the tributes and valued the affection that each one of them displayed but in her mind, it only highlighted what her condition had done to her.

"Even the boys hug me without any awkwardness," she thought sadly. "To them I'm asexual."

Her sorrow evaporated when the one boy she was waiting to see finally appeared in the doorway. For his part, Henry's face lit up when he caught sight of her. His robe fluttered around him as he strode quickly to her side. Grinning widely, he extended to her the dozen white roses that he carried.

"Hello, precious. Great hairstyle. You look wonderful," he said rapidly. "To state the obvious, these are for you."

Maggie smiled at his excited babbling.

"Thank you. They're lovely," she said cradling the flowers in the crook of her left arm. "Did you bring them all the way from London?"

"No," he replied. "I wrote to Bess and Bridget. They bought them for me and had them waiting at the station. I owe them a few galleons."

"They are beautiful but why white ones out of curiosity?" Maggie asked inhaling the flowers' subtle fragrance.

"In my haphazard efforts to learn Gaelic, I discovered that your middle name means white rose," Henry explained. "They seemed appropriate in light of that."

"Perhaps we can find more time this term to work on your Gaelic," Maggie replied. "But right now I truly wish that Rhoswen meant kiss me."

Henry got the hint. He leaned down thinking to give her a quick peck. Maggie however had different ideas. Placing her free hand on the back of his head, she kept his mouth securely on hers as her tongue darted past his teeth. Without breaking the kiss, Henry sank slowly to his knees. He thought that there was something wrong about snogging a girl in such a passionate manner in the midst of a crowded room but the reasons why eluded him. For the life of him, his scattered mind refused to concentrate on the subject. All that was definite was the warmth of Maggie's lips.

With a small gasp, Maggie finally broke away. Smiling at his flushed face, she straighten Henry's askew hat as several Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors cheered and whistled.

"The only guy that matters thinks that I am desirable," she thought with satisfaction. "Damn what the rest of them think."

Embarrassment flooded through Henry as he returned to reality. He carefully arose profoundly grateful that the robe he purchased a few days earlier in Diagon Alley was very, very loose fitting. It hid the most prominent physical evidence of his pleasured reaction to Maggie's kiss.

"Not that I did not enjoy that but please don't do that again in so public a place," pleaded Henry escorting Maggie to the table.

"I won't," Maggie promised sitting down near the end of the table. "I just needed to prove something to myself."

"And to everyone else," she added silently as Henry pushed in her chair.

"Prove what?" Henry asked sitting beside her.

Maggie shook her head. "We need to talk but it'll have to wait until tomorrow. I want some privacy."

"We can find some out-of-the-way place to talk after the supper," Henry said.

Again, Maggie shook her head. "Undoubtedly we could but no. There is something else…never mind. We'll just do it tomorrow. Please?"

Henry did not press her on the issue but her vague evasion left him troubled. Barbara Thane who was serving her apprenticeship at Saint Mungo's Hospital mentioned that she had seen Maggie there twice over the summer but did not have an opportunity to do more then wave to her. Maggie however never alluded to the visits in either herletters to him or at her birthday party. Henry knew the folly of jumping to conclusions but found her omission disturbing. He tried not to think about it concentrating instead on Professor McGonagall leading the new students into the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.

By the next morning, the storm had blown itself out although the sky remained stubbornly overcast. It was cool and the grounds of Hogwarts were sodden but Henry went on his daily run nevertheless. He dispelled his uneasy thoughts by losing himself in the uncomplicated rhythm of churning muscles. He had hoped that Maggie would meet him in the common room before the others awoke but after lingering for awhile, it became apparent that she would not emerge from the darken hall that lead to the girls rooms. He chose to trust that Maggie would eventually tell him what was bothering her.

The anticipated conversation was further delayed felling victim to time constraints. The class schedules distributed at breakfast informed Henry and the rest of the fourth year Hufflepuffs that they had Herbology with the Gryffindors first thing that morning followed immediately by Transfiguration. There would be no opportunity to talk privately until lunch at the earliest.

Henry was a little hurt when Maggie avoided him in the greenhouse. She quickly snared Hermione as her partner when Professor Sprout ordered the students to pair up in order to collect the pus from the bubotubers. A mystified Hermione kept glancing over to where Henry was working with an equally perplexed Chris.

"Have you and Maggie broken up?" Chris finally asked in a hushed tone. "Although after last night's display, I'd find that hard to believe."

Henry blushed at the memory. His roommates teased him incessantly the previous evening once they got back to the dorm. He took it in stride although he did have to remind them with a hard glare at one point that he would not tolerate any ribald comments about Maggie.

"No, we haven't," Henry answered. "Something's bothering her but I don't believe that it has anything to do with me directly. She'll get around to telling me until then it seems that she wishes to avoid me."

Chris nodded accepting Henry's explanation. It was almost incomprehensible to him that Henry and Maggie would split up. They were only fourteen but it was as if they were already married. When Henry presented the jewelry to Maggie at her birthday party, she straight away extended her left hand. Neither expressed any interest in any other boy or girl content to keep company with one another. Chris thought that such a relationship was probably not psychologically healthy at their age. Hermione agreed with him but neither voiced their opinion.

Henry's hurt eased when Maggie slid her book bag over his shoulder as they were leaving the greenhouse for Transfiguration class. Grabbing his hand, she leaned close to him as they crossed the nearly dry lawns.

"Did you miss me?" she asked drolly.

Henry searched for a witty reply but his lack of a sense of humour handicapped his effort so he plainly told the truth as usual.

"Somewhat."

"Good," Maggie replied. "You aren't taking me for granted yet."

"Never," Henry promised.

They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence.

Professor McGonagall kept her face stoically blank as she watched the pair enter her classroom and sit down beside each other on the front row. She acknowledged Henry's polite greeting with a nod all the while indulging an idle fancy casting her mind back over the last three years to see if there was some point in time where she could have nipped the romance between the two in the bud. The only likely scenario was to have had someone else travel to Kentucky to deliver Henry's invitation to Hogwarts but even to the magical folk of Britain, time travel was but a fantasy.

"All in all," she thought. "It would be so much easier if I was not genuinely fond of the lad myself. Fate cast him into the role of hero and he wears the mantle like some knight from a tale of chivalry. Unfortunately too many of those tales end with the knight's noble death."

Professor McGonagall walked around her desk, taking a position before her students.

"For three years you have been mastering the basics of transfiguration," she began. "Now the study for your OWL begins in earnest."

"But the OWL examination won't be for two years!" Susan Bones exclaimed. She immediately turned bright pink when she realized that she had spoken aloud.

"Twenty-one months if you wish to be precise, Miss Bones," Professor McGonagall said dryly. "Yet trust me when I say that if you desire to earn an OWL in Transfiguration, now is the time that your serious study begins. Open your textbooks to the first chapter."

From that point, Henry did not have the time to waste in futile considerations as to what troubled Maggie. The professor dove into the textbook as if the OWL exam was in twenty-one days. She relentlessly drilled the students until even the slowest of them understood the concept. Maggie knew that her mother honestly wanted each of her students to master the subject for their own sakes but also knew that the teachers were highly competitive and compared the number of their students who earned OWLs and NEWTs in their subjects to one another.

The deep tolling of the school bell signaling the end of class caught Henry unawares. He was surprised to find that two hours had past.

"That was a fairly good start for a first day back in class," Professor McGonagall announced as the students gathered their things. "But I expect that once we get our academic legs back under us we shall move along at a greater pace."

She chuckled silently as more then one student failed to stifle a groan. She saw several faces brighten suddenly. She knew that it occurred to them that it was now time for lunch.

"A moment of your time, Mister Porter," she called out as the students scampered from the room.

Knowing what she wished to talk to him about, Henry waited until the classroom emptied before approaching his teacher's desk. Maggie pretending to leave with the others instead closed the door as the last of their classmates left.

"The headmaster, Professor Moody, and I had a serious discussion about your animagus training a few days ago," Professor McGonagall began without preamble. "It was decided for various reasons that you will undergo the training with a few others of your choice, no more then two or three."

"One of which will _not _be me," Maggie declared emphatically.

Henry looked at her in surprise.

"No, mum did not forbid it. You will understand in a few minutes," she said. "Continue on."

"Well, Mister Porter?" the professor asked.

"Chris Gallatin, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley," he answered after a moment.

"Ronald Weasley?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"He's tenacious," Henry explained. "He's geared to fight against long odds and make last stands."

Professor McGonagall tapped her forefinger against her lips while she contemplated Henry's choices. That he picked Chris and Hermione did not surprise her and she had no reservations about teaching either of them. Ron, however, was an odd selection. She had not known that he and Henry were particularly close and his study habits gave her pause. Ron was one of those students who never truly applied himself doing just enough to get by. To her mind, he was also overly emotional, immature, and lacked self-confidence.

"Just how certain are you about Ron?" she asked finally.

"If I could only pick one, I'd pick Ron," Henry replied forcefully. "He has a mean streak that Chris and Hermione do not. If he falls, you better believe that he's taking several to Valhalla with him."

Minerva McGonagall raised an eyebrow. She often wondered what went through Henry's mind. It was now clear to her that he unflinchingly faced the fact that he was training for a life or death fight, her all ready high opinion of him increased a bit more.

"Very well, Mister Porter," she said. "I'll put the question to them and if they are willing then we'll begin the lessons Friday evening in my apartment."

"One other thing, Professor McGonagall, Ron doesn't know who I am," he said.

"At this juncture it is still too early to bring him into your confidence," the professor replied. "I will tell him that the headmaster selected him for the secret training."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered gathering his books and bag.

"You will sit, Mister Porter," Professor McGonagall said. "You and my daughter have something to discuss."

She glanced at Maggie inquisitively. Maggie shook her head once. Professor McGonagall nodded in reply. She squeezed her daughter's hand before silently exiting the classroom.

Maggie spun the chair by Henry around to where she could face her. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

"Henry, have you ever heard of Turner Syndrome?"

Thirty minutes later, Maggie exhausted her knowledge of her condition. Henry had asked few questions during her discourse but at the end, she asked one of her own.

"Well, what are you thinking?"

"It sounds as if you caught a bad break." He answered.

"That's it?" Maggie cried in disbelief. "A bad break?"

Henry was confused, uncertain of her of her mood. "I'm sorry; Maggie but I don't know what you're after. You tell me that you were born with this condition but it's treatable and you're going be all right in time. It sounds like an aggravation but you're not going to die."

"What about the rest of it?" Maggie asked.

"What rest of it?" Henry asked in return.

"Dr. Murray saying that I shouldn't have sex for the foreseeable future," Maggie clarified.

"So we don't make love in the foreseeable future," he replied.

Maggie looked at him suspiciously. "And you're fine with that?"

Henry ran a hand fretfully over his short hair. "Mag-GIE."

Henry rubbed his throat as Maggie giggled.

"I'll be so glad when my voice stops breaking," he said. "Look, Maggie, I'll admit to having my fantasies. Hell, I have had hard time thinking of anything else lately which frankly had me sorta embarrassed until Dad said that it was normal and that I wasn't a budding pervert. But that aside, I had no expectations of jumping into your bed anytime soon. Now your doctor tells you that sex would not only be painful for you at this time but possibly dangerous. Do you honestly think that I would be self-centered enough as to pressure you into that anyway?"

"No," Maggie answered moving to the crux of her worries. "But I'm not the only girl in Hogwarts."

"Yeah but you're the only one for me," he said. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"No," Maggie quickly answered. It was a lie but Maggie could not bring herself to say anything about the likelihood of her being sterile.

"I don't care that Dr. Murray gave me only a one percent chance of getting pregnant," Maggie thought savagely. "Someday I will have Henry's child if I have to commandeer the talents of every healer at St. Mungo's."

"Ready for lunch?" Henry asked.

"Wait, Henry, I'm not done," Maggie said stopping him from rising. "Be absolutely, brutally honest. Am I truly the only girl you want? Look around this school. There are some beautiful girls here. Look at Barbara. She's a goddess. Could you refuse someone like her?"

Henry took her hands into his. "Maggie, I don't do my thinking with my dick. I can resist the temptation of others because I don't want to lose you."

Maggie leaned closer to him. "Henry, how certain are you of that?"

He smiled. "My first impulse after you put that ring on last month was to run out and find a priest."

"Mother would have turned you and the priest into mice and transformed herself into a cat," Maggie laughed feeling her fears melt away like the morning dew. "Hand me my book bag there behind you."

She extracted from the bag a small rectangular highly varnished cedar case. She ran her fingers slowly across the lid. She had to sew many dresses to be able to afford the case and its contents and she had to deceive her mother to buy it. No one save the witch who owned the curio shop in Knockturn Alley knew that she now possessed it. The witch would say nothing. It was, after all, her stock and trade. The money Maggie spent without a second thought but the deception pained her greatly. She told her mother that she went to Diagon Alley to purchase her textbooks. It was the first time that she could ever remember lying to her.

Maggie wiggled the lid loose and sat it aside. The crimson felt linedcase bottom had in its center a small silver dagger. On either side, were two tiny obelisks of rose-coloured marble. A silver chain ran through the top of the pendants in which were imbedded symbols of black onyx. Henry could feel a subtle difference in the magic of the two pendants but its exact nature eluded him.

"Those aren't runes," he said.

"No," Maggie confirmed. "They are letters from the Aramaic alphabet. A rough translation would be 'love wings'. The necklaces come from the magical traditions of the Persian Empire. They are part of a ritual that binds lovers together."

"And the knife tells me that blood is involved," Henry said wryly. "My blood, I presume."

"Our blood, actually," Maggie replied. "Am I not worth a few drops of blood?"

"You're worth every drop in my body," he declared. "But first explain what 'binds' means in this instance."

"You are as inconstant as the moon," Maggie said ironically. "First you offer me your life then you hesitate."

"Don't get greedy," Henry countered. "You have my heart but I insist on keeping my brain."

Maggie kissed him lightly. "I would have it no other way. To answer your question, my research into this says that once bonded the empathy between the lovers increases to the point that they can sense each other over moderately long distances and feel what the other is feeling. They are also able to communicate telepathically via the pendants over even greater distances."

"And the catch?"

"The catch is that the bond can only be broken by death," Maggie replied looking Henry in the eye. "The pendants cannot be destroyed."

"You play for keeps, don't you?" Henry said sardonically.

"When it comes to you, I do," Maggie replied intensely. "And you can take that to Gringotts."

"You don't need magic to chain me to you," he gently said. "I'm already there under my own volition."

"Henry, this isn't a yoke," Maggie replied. "As the inscription says they are wings."

She waited patiently while he thought the matter over meticulously. She prepared herself to accept that he might wish to postpone the ritual until he read her research himself. Henry was not impetuous. He surprised her.

"Well my dove let us fly," he finally said. "What do we do?"

Maggie had to crush the urge to shout for joy.

"Put on that necklace," she said tapping the one on her left. "That is the male one."

"What would happen if they were mixed up?" Henry asked looping the chain around his neck.

"I don't know," Maggie answered lowering the female pendant over her head. "I would not care to experiment. One further item, I think that perhaps it would be best to keep this from mother. It is too close to being married for her not to go through the roof."

Henry nodded his assent remembering Maggie's cat and mouse analogy.

Maggie took the small knife from the case.

"Palms up, please."

Henry extended his hands before him, the palms skyward. With a slightly trembling hand, Maggie brought the knifepoint down to the edge of Henry's right palm.

"Just do it quick, Maggie," he said benignly. "It'll be fine."

She exhaled slowly then slashed both palms rapidly. Henry flinched but kept his hands steady.

"Now what?" he asked as blood welled up in his hands.

"We put one pendant in each palm then it is my turn," she answered putting into action her words. Once the pendants were in Henry's hands, she laid open her own palms. Tossing the bloody knife aside, she laid her bleeding hands over the pendants before the pain could fully register.

"Now we seal the bond with a kiss," she said.

"This part of the ritual I don't mind," Henry quipped.

Like the kiss the night before, Henry felt the warmth of Maggie's lips but today there was greater warmth in their clasped hands. It crept up his arms following the pathways of his veins gaining speed as it went. It hit his heart and surged through his arteries racing toward his brain. With increasing momentum, it blasted through his mind kicking down walls that Henry did not know existed.

As the mental barriers collapsed, the presence of Maggie suddenly flooded his five normal senses as nothing had done before in his life allowing his sixth sense to reach out to her. A cocoon of psychic ecstasy spun around them. It was exquisite. It was as if his soul was kissing her soul while his body kissed her body. Henry finally understood the concept of the third eye. He saw her with his mind. He saw the bright blue of her spirit, the warm red of her love and receding rapidly, the grey of her recent fears.

Just when he felt like he was going to fly away, Maggie's lips unexpectedly fell from his as she fainted falling forward against his chest.

Panting labouriously, Henry clung to her inert body momentarily confused by his abrupt return to his normal senses. He was stunning weak. Uncertain if he had the physical strength to move he sat in his chair for several minutes holding Maggie as tightly as he could.

Henry ultimately made the decision to stand. Moving like an arthritic old man, Henry graduallyrose to his feetin stages. He gingerly lifted Maggie placing her across the desktop. He elevated her head by sliding his books beneath her. It was only then that he noticed that the cuts on his hands were gone. Even the spilt blood was gone drunk by the pendants he surmised.

Weaken by his effort he sat back down. While he struggled to regain his breath, he became curious as to whether the bond was still there or if it had been temporary, Henry closed his eyes willing his mind to reach out to Maggie. Success evaded him at first but when he thought to place two fingers on the pendant, his mind leaped from his skull like a deer.

He smiled happily. He could feel her heart beating slow, strong, and steady. Her body was not distressed in the slightest but he perceived that she was very weary. The ritual took as much from her as it did him and he was far stronger physically.

Henry peeked at his wristwatch as he unhurriedly stood again. They had nearly two and one-half hours before they had to be in their arithmancy class so he could let her sleep for a while. He tucked her pendant under her blouse before turning his attention to her scattered things. It was only when he was putting the cedar case back in her book bag that it occur to him that he had no idea when the next Transfiguration class would begin. The last thing he needed was to have Professor McGonagall return to find her daughter passed out on a desk. He hated to do it but he had to awaken Maggie.

Impishly, he decided to do so with a kiss. A spark, like the tiniest of novas, burst in the darkness of Maggie's somnolence. Maggie struggled glacially back to consciousness. When she got there she discovered that her body was already responding to Henry's kiss. Mustering her strength, she reached up running a hand across his hair.

Henry smiled at her. "Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. I know that you're exhausted but I'm not sure when you mom's next class is."

Maggie nearly panicked. "Right after lunch!"

She laboured to rise successful only after Henry placed a hand on her back pushing her into a sitting position.

"We still have about twenty minutes so don't rush," Henry said. "You may pass out again if you do. Now put your arm around my neck and we'll get you to your feet."

Flinging an arm around his shoulders, Maggie pushed herself cautiously to the edge of the desk before allowing gravity to take over. Her legs were wobbly but Henry's firm grip around her waist kept her upright.

"I can't believe how exhausted I am," Maggie said. "I won't be able to get very far. Can you carry me?"

Henry chuckled easing her down onto a chair. "Not very far, dear heart but I do have an idea that might work."

Leaving Maggie, he grabbed chair dragging it into the hallway. Maggie craned her neck to see what he was doing. To her amazement, he used his wand to transfigure the chair into a rickshaw. With a huge grin, he returned to her.

"Three years of your mother's efforts haven't been wasted on me after all," he quipped wrapping an arm around her.

Maggie grabbed both of their book bags as Henry helped her to her feet. Under Henry's careful guidance, she managed to exit the classroom, all but falling into the rickshaw.

"Are you ready," Henry asked seizing the poles.

"If you're too tired to carry me how are you going to pull me in this thing?" Maggie asked.

"Oh, the rickshaw does all the work really although the stairs might be tricky," Henry replied. "But there are only two flights of them."

"Half the school will see us," Maggie pointed out.

"Yeah but they'll think that it's all a lark and never guess that I'm not just being foolish," he countered.

They had no choice but to try Maggie knew. They could not stay in the classroom and keep the pendants a secret from her Mother but in her current state, she could not walk five meters let alone make it back to the Hufflepuff dorm. Furthermore, he was probably right that the other students would think that it was all in fun.

"There'll probably be a fleet of rickshaws rolling around by tomorrow," she thought

"Are you ready?" Henry asked again.

"Gittup!" she said gaily.

_A/N: Turner Syndrome is an actual genetic abnormality. I strove for accuracy while describing Maggie's symptoms. For those interested in learning more about it, there are several websites on the subject _


	3. Chapter 3

**The Dreaded Disclaimer: **This is a work of fan fiction. All rights to all recognizable characters and the HP universe remain the procession of the current copyright holders. No claims of originality are made. No material gain is sought.

The Misplaced Potter 2

Chapter 3

_In which our hero faces the first task _

Cedric Diggory took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The tension he felt was nothing like the excited anticipation that came before a quidditch match. This was the Triwizards Tournament, not some game between student houses. Victory here meant glory, money and not a small heave up in the job market when he graduated from Hogwarts in a couple of years. Defeat…defeat could well mean his life.

He stole a glance at his competition. Victor Krum looked even more surly then usual. The Bulgarian's sharp nose sliced through the air as he paced along the far side of the large tent. His narrowed eyes gazed upward at some indeterminate point.

"Oh yeah," Cedric thought. "You're on edge also, aren't you me lad? World Cup matches are one thing, facing a dragon alone is another matter entirely."

His eyes darted covertly to Fleur Delacour sitting on a low stool. She was wane. Her eyes stared unfocused at her feet as she idly rubbed two fingers across the back of one hand. She remained, however, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. "A kiss for luck?" he thought. "Better not ask that. If I survive and word got back to Cho…the dragon would probably be easier to face."

He continued the inspection of his rivals, casting his glance at his fellow Hufflepuff, Henry Porter. The boy sat on the ground. He rested with his back against one of the support poles, his legs stretched before him. Despite being the youngest of the champions, he looked the calmest. Cedric attributed that to Henry's artificial eyes which betrayed nothing of his emotions but Cedric did noticed the hard set of the younger boy's jaw and his contracted eyelids.

"You're scared and still angry at being forced into the tournament," Cedric mused in the quiet of his mind.

Henry had been in his house for over three years now but Cedric admitted to himself that he really did not know the boy well. There was the age difference, of course, and the fact that Henry was a muggleborn, not that he had anything against them. Usually muggleborns made some effort to fit in with their wizardborn classmates by adopting some of their hobbies but Henry did not. He did not trade Chocolate Frog cards or play gobstones. Most heretically of all as far as Cedric was concerned, Henry had no interest in quidditch. Cedric had asked Henry to go out for the Hufflepuff side after Ernie Macmillan swore to him that Henry flew a broom better then anyone not on the Irish National Squad.

"Thank you," he replied when Cedric extended the offer the beginning of Henry's third year. "But I don't think that I could keep up with my studies and play on the Hufflepuff quidditch team at the same time."

"You manage well enough even with all of the after class clubs you belong to," Cedric countered. "You could drop a few of those and still have the same amount of time you have now for studying."

"No, thank you, Cedric," Henry replied with polite finality.

"The boy is always polite," Cedric thought. "Well, almost." He added thinking back to Halloween night. Henry's civility evaporated that night not that Cedric could blame him. He lost his composure only after all the adults kept hammering him with questions as to how his name came from the Goblet of Fire.

"I did NOT enter," he all but shouted when Professor Snape demanded to know how Henry got around the age line for the fourth time.

"Do you know what _veriserum_ is, Mr. Porter," the potions master asked nastily.

"Yes, professor, I do," he replied with a blandness that teetered on insolence. "If you got some give it to me."

"That won't be necessary," Professor Dumbledore quickly injected. "I believe Henry. He is an honest boy."

" 'Onest boy or no, I must protest, Dumbly-dore," Madame Maxine angrily said. "'Ogwarts cannot have two champions when we have but one. It iz not fair."

"And he is under our agreed upon age limit," Professor Karkaroff hissed. "I would have brought more students if I had known that you would ignore the rules, Dumbledore."

"It doesn't matter," Henry said. "I simply won't compete."

"You can't mean that, boyo," Ludo Bagman exclaimed aghast at the very notion. "This is the Triwizard Tournament."

Henry shrugged. "So?"

"It's the simplest solution," Professor McGonagall said with relief.

"It is no solution," Bartemuis Crouch replied. "His name came forth from the goblet. It is a binding magical contract. He must compete."

"How can it be a contract when I didn't consent to the freaking thing?" Henry snapped.

Dolores Umbridge, who in her new governmental capacity, had been at Hogwarts several times during the term chuckled maliciously. "Muggleborns never do fully appreciate or understand the nuances of the magical community."

"Well, lad, rules are rules," Bagman said lightly. "And Barty here knows the rulebook cover to cover."

"Fine, I'm in the tournament," Henry said throwing up his arms. "I hereby forfeit."

"If you forfeit, then Hogwarts forfeits," Crouch growled in anger.

"Wait!" Cedric shouted pushing his way through the knot of adults around Henry. "I'm ready to compete. I want to compete."

"If Porter forfeits then Hogwarts forfeits," Crouch firmly reiterated.

Cedric turned to his fellow Hufflepuff. "C'mon, Henry," he pleaded. "You have to do it."

"No, I don't."

Professor Dumbledore sighed deeply, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Henry," he began sadly. "I'm sorry but you must."

Henry locked eyes with the headmaster for several moments before throwing questioning looks to Professors McGonagall and Moody. With great reluctance, both nodded once.

"Alright, I'm in." he said shrugging off the headmaster's hand before storming for the door.

"Wait, lad," Bagman called out. "You haven't received your instructions yet."

"What kind of instructions do you need to get killed," Henry retorted exiting the room.

Get killed. The phrase silently reverberated in Cedric's mind as he brought his attention back to the present. All of the professors assured him that they had taken every possible precaution but the danger still existed. Maybe not so much for him but Henry did not have anywhere near the training that he and the other champions had. He remembered that a baby dragon mauled Henry a couple of years ago and Cedric doubted that they would be facing any hatchlings today. Even the small model he drew from the bag earlier looked formidable.

He squatted beside the younger boy.

"Nervous?" Cedric asked in a brotherly manner.

Henry gave him a blank look.

Cedric laughed. "Yeah, that was a stupid question," he admitted. "Do you have a plan?"

"That depends on if they left anything out there for me to hide behind," Henry answered.

Nearby, Fleur giggled. Victor shook his head.

"If they haven't," Henry continued with a straight face. "I'll run around in circles until sundown then slink away under the cover of darkness."

Cedric chuckled uncertain if Henry was being serious or not. A loud whistle suddenly blew. Cedric stood. Henry followed suit.

"That's the signal," Cedric said. "Wish me luck."

"Good hunting," Henry replied extending his hand.

"Thanks," Cedric said shaking Henry's hand. "When I'm done, I'll see if I can summon a boulder for you to hide behind."

Henry laughed. "I'd be grateful."

With a jaunty salute, that Henry was certain was mostly bravado, Cedric exited the tent.

The minutes ticked by. Henry largely ignored Bagman's running commentary. Henry did not care what stratagem Cedric was employing but as long as Bagman was still talking, then Cedric was still alive. Henry hoped that he could say the same for himself when the day was done.

Henry rubbed a hand over his close-cropped black hair. He had to survive. They needed time to unmask the culprit who placed his name in the goblet. That someone was an agent of Voldemort. No one else would have bothered with such a ploy. No one else beyond his own tight circle knew who he was. That someone planned to commit murder by proxy. Having him killed in the tournament was diabolical. It would be murder without suspicion.

A happy roar split the air. Cedric had succeeded in capturing the golden egg from the short-snout. Ludo Bagman babbled merrily for a few minutes before the whistle blew again.

"Miss Delacour, if you please," Bagman's amplified voice cried out.

Fleur took a hesitant step toward the exit then stopped. She stood concentrating her will on mastering her trembling body.

"Bonne chance," Henry said supportively.

Fleur rubbed her clammy palms on her robe and exhaled loudly.

"Merci," she replied evenly before purposefully striding out of the tent. A loud cheer erupted as she made her appearance.

Henry sat down on the stool. Victor stopped pacing. He stood in a corner resolutely staring into space. Henry watched him while keeping half an ear cocked to the sounds of the contest.

"What's Bulgaria like?" he finally asked.

"What?"

"What is Bulgaria like?" Henry repeated.

A smile softened Victor's hawkish features. "Is the most beautiful place on Earth," he replied proudly. "As soon as I finished at Durmstrang, I return there."

"Durmstrang isn't like Bulgaria?" Henry asked.

Victor snorted. "Durmstrang is near glaciers. My home in Bulgaria is warm and bright. Is little kilometres south of Varna on the Black Sea. People come from many countries for holidays there."

"It sounds nice."

"Nice?" Victor parroted with a frown. "Pleasant, yes?"

"Yes, it means pleasant," Henry confirmed.

"English is difficult language," Victor said. "Russian, Serbian, Greek I learn easily."

"All I speak is English," replied Henry. "But my girlfriend is teaching me Gaelic."

Victor laughed heartily. "Is nice way to learn but you said French to girl."

"I know some words but that's not speaking a language," Henry explained.

Victor nodded sagely. "Is the same with my comrades on the national team. They do not speak languages but they can order beer and steak in any country in Europe."

A loud roar went up as Bagman shouted, "she's got it!"

Victor slowly stretched his arms above his head. "Soon my match begins."

"Good luck," Henry said.

"Thank you," Victor replied. "But is only big snake. Not difficult."

"What?"

Victor smiled, tapping the side of his head with a forefinger. "In brain do not think dragon, think snake. Snake is not difficult, is not fright."

Henry gave him thumbs up as the whistle blew shrilly. The Bulgarian nodded at Henry and exited.

Henry paced about the tent. A smile slowly grew wider and wider across his face as he gazed at the model of the Hungarian Horntail in his hand.

"You're a reptile, nothing but a freaking reptile," he said gleefully. "Up yours, Lord V. You're not getting me today."

High in the stands, Maggie felt Henry's sudden rush of elation. Keeping her movements unobtrusive, she slid a hand inside her robe until her fingers touched the small marble obelisk that rested against her breast.

"_What is it, Henry?"_ she cast.

"_Enlightenment, most precious,"_ was his gleeful reply. _"Dragons are reptiles." _

"_Very strong and fast reptiles that fly, breathe fire, and have teeth that put sabres to shame. Not to mention that they outweigh you by several tonnes."_

Maggie sensed his amusement. _"I don't think they weight all that much but it doesn't matter, that horntail is going down."_

"_Yes, Henry, I believe that it will," _she replied encouragingly. _"Just be careful."_

"_I won't do anything foolish."_

"_Don't make a promise you cannot keep."_

"_Tha gaol agam ort, Maggie."_

"_I love you too, Henry," _she replied

She broke the contact. She pondered what significance was it to Henry that dragons were reptilian until Victor Krum succeeded in snatching the golden egg.

"Henry's next," Chris said as he stood cheering with the rest of the crowd.

"I say, Holmes, brilliant deduction," Hermione teased at his side.

Chris grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess that could have gone without saying. I'm just nervous."

"Henry will be okay," Ginny confidently declared wiggling under Chris' arm.

"She's right, Chris," Maggie said striving for calm. "Henry will triumph."

Hermione looked at her.

"That smacks of Luna's nefarious optimism," she said.

From the other side of Maggie, Luna grinned at her friend. "There is not much point in being anything but optimistic, is there?"

"Probably not but I don't seem to have the knack for it. Right now, I'd give almost anything to have your faith," Hermione confessed. "I couldn't even sleep last night for worry."

"I had to take a sleeping draught," Maggie admitted. "But I believe that Henry will be fine."

"Who are you trying to convince?" asked Hermione taking her tiny friend's hand as they sat back down onto the bleachers.

"You know the answer to that," replied Maggie squeezing her hand in return.

Luna slipped an arm around Maggie's waist as she and Hermione budged closer to her. Bess and Bridget, who were sitting with George and Fred Weasley on the row before Maggie, turned around.

"Buck up, lass," Bridget said. "If that lot can get past the beasties, then surely your man can."

"Aye, he's a game lad, your Henry is," Bess agreed.

The lad himself emerged from the tent to the thunderous approval of his schoolmates. The first few days after his surprise selection saw the birth of many malicious rumours but Cedric Diggory doggedly rose to Henry's defence. He told anyone who would listen to him that he believed Henry when the younger boy said that he did not enter his name into the Goblet of Fire and how Henry did his utmost to withdraw from the tournament. Slowly, due mainly to his campaign, most of the Hogwarts students came around to supporting Henry although the tall, handsome Cedric remained their favourite.

Henry stared the black dragon at the far end of the enclosure. She was a big brute. She crouched low, her wings spread protectively around her eggs. Her spiked tail swung menacing back and forth, gouging huge chucks of earth. Her yellow eyes locked onto Henry.

Wand in hand, Henry cautiously moved forward. For his plan to work, he would have to get uncomfortably close. He scanned the ground about the horntail as he crept nearer. He needed four points to work with. Three were easy to spot, two small bushes and an old stump. The fourth was proving elusive.

The dragon abruptly arched her neck and spat fire at Henry. Many of the spectators screamed but the movement gave Henry all the warning he needed. A freeze-flame spell was in place before the first tendrils hit him. He stood steady as the fire shot harmlessly by him.

A collective sigh of relief rose from hundreds of throats as the flames subsided and Henry stood before them unscathed. Those in the lower seats caught the small grin that sprouted on Henry's face. He smiled at the sight of a rock behind the dragon. He had his final point. The dragon growled ominously as Henry took one last step.

Few of the students recognized Henry's wand gestures for what they were. The teachers and those of his classmates that did were puzzled.

Ron verbalized what they all were asking themselves. "Why is he erecting a ward?"

No one had an answer for him.

Henry was perspiring. He had never before attempted to create this variety of ward. Barbara Thane had walked him through the basics of it when she visited the Porter farm over the summer. It was a spell that healers used but the prohibition against minors using magic away from Hogwarts did not allow him the luxury of practicing it.

The four points began to glow. After a moment, strands of light looking like frayed glow sticks snaked between them connecting with one another. The dragon stopped snarling, her attention captured by the sparkling pale-blue square that formed around her and Henry.

Henry slowly raised his wand. The strands stretched in conjunction becoming walls of light. The dragon's head darted to and fro in fear and confusion. She drew her wings in tighter around her clutch. Once the wall was several metres high, Henry drew his hands together. A ceiling of light formed over their heads. The ward was complete.

Henry paused collecting himself and marshalling is strength. He ran a quick arm across his forehead trying to keep the sweat out of his eyes. He was almost certain how to proceed. "In theory, this should work," Henry thought. "It damn well better," he added savagely as he continued the spell.

Frost formed on the blades of grass as Henry leached the heat from inside the ward. His breath fogged before him but he held the spell. Henry watched the dragon expectantly. The minutes crept by. As he thought would happen, the cold-blooded dragon's movements grew more and more sluggish.

"It won't be long now before you won't have the ability to move," Henry thought as his teeth chattered. "It can't come soon enough."

The dragon drew her wings in. She arched her neck down to her clutch trying to breathe on it.

Henry's jaw dropped as she moaned, "The cold…my eggssss."

He stepped forward. "Can you understand me?" he asked in wonder.

The dragon slowly turned her massive head toward him. "Yesss." She replied, surprise in her own voice.

With a sweeping motion, Henry collapsed the ward. Warm air swirled around them but Henry cast a hot air charm at the dragon nonetheless. As heat buffeted her body, the large reptile felt some of her vim return. She manoeuvred her head to her eggs. Once she was satisfied that her clutch was unharmed, she directed an evil look at Henry who hastily took a step back.

"You made the cold?"

"And I can bring it back," he replied assertively secretly praying that his voice wouldn't break. "If you choose to fight instead of talking to me."

Her large pointed ears twitched as she arched her long neck, stretching it to its full height. Henry prepared to dodge a strike but the dragon spoke instead. "I will talk. You intrigue me. I have never met a human who could speak Dragon."

"You are speaking English," Henry replied.

A puff of smoke belched from her snout. Henry hoped that it was the dragon equivalent of laughter or something as benign. "So, human, tell me _why_ you after my eggs?"

Henry shook his head before it occurred to him that it was probably a meaningless gesture to the dragon. "I do not want you eggs. No one here does. The humans who brought you here are dedicated to the preservation of your kind. They want all your eggs to hatch and all of the offspring to thrive."

"Is that why they bring me carcasses?" she asked fascinated. "I have not had to leave my nest to hunt. It has been convenient but why did they bring me here?"

Henry rubbed a hand over his head. "You were brought her as part of a human competition but what is truly desired by an enemy of mine is for you to kill me."

Several more puffs of smoke came from her snort. They drifted lazily away on the slight breeze. "And yet you face me?"

"I do not know who my enemy is," Henry replied. "The only way to discover him is to carry through with the competition."

"So you must try to kill me?"

"No," Henry answered vehemently. "Killing you is not the objective. Hidden amongst your eggs is an object I must retrieve."

"There is nothing in my nest but my eggs," the dragon growled dangerously. "I would have felt anything else."

"It is there," Henry assured the great beast. "Allow me to show you."

"Do you think that I am simple enough to allow you near my eggs?" she snarled.

"I will be under your teeth," Henry pointed out.

"I will not take that chance, cold-bringer," the dragon answered.

Henry thought quickly. He held his wand before him. "Do you see this?" he asked.

"It is a branch," she replied.

"It is the cold bringer," Henry said. "Watch."

Henry pointed it a one of the small bushes he used for a corner of the ward. He aimed a freezing charm at the plant. Before the dragon's astonished eyes, it turned to solid ice.

The dragon paused then lowered her head to the frozen bush. It vanished in a burst of flame. She raised her head back up. "If that was meant to frighten me," she said. "You failed."

"It was not to frighten you but to gain your trust," Henry replied.

"How?" she asked.

Dozens of jaws dropped as Henry tossed his wand at the dragon's feet. "That's how," he said.

The dragon stared at him for several long seconds before smoke once again bellowed from her. "Come forward, human," she said stepping carefully to one side of her nest.

The spectators who had grown silent as Henry talked to the dragon, communally gasped as Henry moved forward with more far confidence then he felt.

The golden egg was easy to spy in the midst of the beige-coloured real eggs. Henry delicately eased the counterfeit from the nest and held it up for the dragon to inspect. She lowered her head and flicked her tongue over it several times. Her hot, foul breath whirled around Henry.

"That is no egg," she said. "You can take it, human."

"Thank you," Henry said.

"Thank you? I do not understand."

Henry thought for a moment. "When the humans bring you meat so that you do not have to leave your eggs to hunt, do you feel less inclined to kill them?"

"Somewhat."

"Thank you expresses that thought," Henry said, watching as Charlie Weasley and the other dragon-keepers eased closer. Henry gestured toward them "They'll take you home now unless you decide to kill me."

"I'll let you live," the dragon replied. "I will not do the bidding of a human and there is not enough of you to make a meal."

"Thank you," Henry again said bowing deeply to the great animal.

"Take the branch with you," she commanded. "I don't want it near my eggs."

Henry retrieved his wand very much aware that he was giving the dragon an easy target if she changed her mind. She did not. On shaky legs, he walked to the middle of the enclosure, pocketing his wand as he went.

He stopped before the judges and held the golden egg aloft for all to see. To his amazement, only weak applause greeted the finish of his task. Hundreds of eyes stared at him in hostile suspicion. Murmurs ran through the bleachers like electric currents. Henry sought out Maggie. She was clapping, as were all of his friends but concern clung to her face. Under the guise of a bow, Henry slipped his hand inside his robe.

"_What's wrong?"_

"_Henry, get back to the Hufflepuff dorm… no, the room of requirement immediately," _she replied.

"_Why?"_

"_Just do it, dear heart. I'll explain when I get there."_

"_I have to return to the tent for instructions to the second task."_

"_Then meet us there as soon as you can. We'll be waiting."_

Baffled, Henry tucked the egg into the crook of his arm and marched rapidly to the tent.

One-half an hour later, Henry entered the room of requirement. He barely had time to notice that it had arranged itself to resemble an old-fashioned parlour when Maggie leaped on him like a leopard. Henry nearly dropped the golden egg as she planted an ardent kiss upon his lips. Chris, Ginny, Hermione, Luna, and Ron rose from the comfortable, plush sofas and chairs to gather around him.

"You said that you wouldn't do anything foolish," Maggie accused when she broke the embrace.

"I didn't," Henry replied accepting hugs from Ginny, Hermione, and Luna in turn.

"You're right, cuz," Chris sharply agreed. "Walking unarmed up to a dragon wasn't foolish. It was psychotic and suicidal. I nearly fainted."

"Faint," Ron snorted. "I thought I was gonna have to change my trousers."

"It turned out okay," Henry replied. "But why was everyone staring at me like I just tossed a baby into the fire?"

"Why didn't you tell us that you were a parselmouth?" Luna asked.

"A parselmouth?" Henry asked in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"A parselmouth is someone who can talk to snakes," Hermione explained. "And apparently dragons although there are no records of anyone trying that stunt."

"The dragon spoke English," Henry said.

"No, it did not, love," sighed Maggie leading her boyfriend to a settee. "All we heard were hisses. You were speaking to the dragon in its own language."

Henry frowned as he sat down. "I don't understand. To my ear, we were speaking English."

Everyone exchanged puzzled glances as they too returned to their seats. Henry knew that his friends believed him but he could not work out why they all seemed so worried.

"It's pretty obvious that I am once again missing the key point here," Henry said patiently. "So what is the problem? I'm sure that there loads of witches and wizards that can speak with animals."

"No." Luna said. "It's a very, very, _very_ rare talent."

"Charlie would trade every coin in Gringott's to be able to communicate with dragons," Ginny said. "Do you realize how much more he could learn about them if he could do that?"

"But you would think that I would have known about it long before today," Henry said.

"Not really," Maggie replied. "It was a latent talent that emerged only under the proper circumstances. I mean, who tries to talk to a reptile, really?"

"I talk to horses," Henry said. "They never talked back though but I still don't see where the problem is."

"To answer your question, Henry," Hermione began. "The reason everyone was edgy is that in the past parselmouths have been exclusively the darkest of dark wizards. Voldemort is one. The only known one alive until today."

"So I'm suddenly Voldemort junior?" Henry asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Ron said. "To some people anyway. At the very least, a lot of people are asking just who Henry Porter is, right now."

"Great," Henry muttered.

"It'll blow over," Chris said.

"No, it won't," Ron disagreed. "Not for a while anyway. That Skeeter woman was in the stands. I guarantee that this'll be on the front page of _The Daily Prophet_ tomorrow. Moreover, Undersecretary Umbridge is still here. She'll likely stick her big nose in it."

"That seems much ado about nothing," Chris argued.

Ron shook his head. "Please don't take this the wrong way but being muggleborn, I don't think you truly understand the impact of a parselmouth in the magic community. No one, nowhere, no how can convince me that Henry is a dark wizard but the idea of a parselmouth makes my skin crawl. I'm sorry, Henry but that's the way it is."

"If you are convinced that I am not a dark wizard why would it bother you?" Henry asked.

Ron shrugged. "I suppose because in our culture parseltongue and dark wizardry are inseparable. If you grow up believing one thing, it's hard for even the undeniable truth to alter that belief. Believe me, Henry, I'll work on it."

"I should have just kept on freezing the damn thing," Henry groaned.

"Why didn't you?" Maggie asked.

"Once I heard the concern for her eggs in her voice, I just couldn't," Henry explained. "She wasn't a malevolent beast at that point. She was a mother."

"Some dark wizard you are," Hermione quipped.

"Yeah," Henry sighed. "Is there anyway to mitigate this or is it something I just have to ride out?"

"You can't put the genie back in the bottle, Henry," Luna said.

"It's out there, Henry," Maggie agreed. "All you can do is to remain the good, decent guy you are. Like Ron said, people have their beliefs about parselmouths but I can't image that anyone here at Hogwarts will be able to bring themselves to believe that you are a dark wizard."

"And what total strangers think isn't worth bothering with,' Hermione added.

"This is too weird," Henry said. "When I woke up this morning all I wanted was to survive the task. Well, I survived it and my reward is more headaches."

"Well cuz, you faced a dragon and didn't get killed or get a return trip to St. Mungo's," Chris said. "All things considered, I would say that you came out ahead."

"Yeah, looking at it that way, it's definitely a half-full glass," Henry conceded. "More then half-full."

"And you're tied with Krum for first place," Ron pointed out.

"Where did you learn that spell, Henry?" Hermione asked. "I'm speaking of the ward, of course."

"Barbara," Henry told her as he rubbed his face. "She said that sometimes healers need to quickly cool or warm several patients at once so they create a ward that allows them to either draw in or expel heat."

"It could be applied to outdoor survival, too," Ron mused.

"Yeah, it could, couldn't it," Henry agreed. "But it takes a lot of energy."

"Now that you got the egg, what's next?" Ginny asked.

"I don't know," Henry declared. "We were told that the eggs are the key to the next task which is in February."

"Which is?" asked Chris.

"Which is the month after January," Henry joked in a weary voice.

"What is the next task, smarty," Chris chuckled.

"I haven't the foggiest and, not to be rude, but right now I don't care," Henry replied. "All I really want is a hot shower and supper."

Maggie stood. With a laugh, she pulled Henry to his feet. "That's what I like about guys," she said. "They are such uncomplicated creatures."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See Previous Chapter

The Misplaced Potter 2

Chapter 4

_In which Henry prepares for the Yule Ball_

"Happy Christmas," a rosy-cheeked Barbara Thane called out gaily as she entered the Porter's warm, homey kitchen.

"Happy Christmas," Danielle Porter returned in an equally jolly voice as she extracted a two large pans of biscuits from the oven. "You're just in time."

"So I see," Barbara replied. "They smell fantastic. What are they?"

"Honey butter," Danielle answered. "I promised Chris that I'd send him some back with Henry. Caroline, bless her, never can make a decent batch despite it being a very basic recipe."

Barbara performed a quick cooling charm on one biscuit before plucking it from the tray.

"Fabulous," she purred slowly chewing the morsel. "You must give me the recipe. The kids at mum's day care centre would love them."

"As I said, it's very simple," the older woman replied. "Can you cool the rest of them? I'll box them up and they'll be ready."

"So where's our lad?" the young witch asked waving her wand over the trays.

"Where else?"

"The stables," they said in unison.

"He told us that he discovered that he could talk with reptiles," Mrs. Porter said. "I think he's hoping to do the same with horses. I guess it isn't any more far fetched then chatting with an adder."

"Fewer ramifications, anyway," Barbara replied.

Mrs Porter began to stack the biscuits in a box. "Yes, he told us about that, also. He said that many of his classmates literally fear him now. He's a truthful boy but I find that difficult to believe."

"Fear him perhaps is a bit hyperbolic but it's safe to say the vast majority distrust him at the moment," Barbara answered. "And that would be the vast majority of the magical community, not just his classmates."

"That's not rational," Mrs Porter snapped.

"No, but prejudice never is," the young witch replied forlornly. "Do you remember that conversation we had at your sister's house after Henry was discharged from St. Mungo's?"

"Essentially, bigots spreading innuendo."

"Yes," Barbara said. "Unfortunately, _The Daily Prophet_ is stoking the flames of intolerance. As far as their propaganda machine is concerned, a muggleborn parselmouth is made-to-order."

"Henry didn't tell me it was that bad," Mrs Porter said in a worried voice.

"Isolated as he is at Hogwarts, he probably doesn't realize the full extent of it," Barbara replied. "All that he knows is the reaction of his schoolmates."

"Is he safe?" Mrs. Porter nervously asked. "Should he be withdrawn from Hogwarts?"

"I didn't mean to frighten you, Danielle," Barbara quickly said. "Yes, Henry's safe. No one is going to harm him. The peasants aren't going to storm Hogwarts Castle brandishing pitchforks and torches. All-in-all, it's just a load of twaddle from a group of gits with inordinately loud voices."

Mrs Porter shook her head. "When Henry first went to Hogwarts, I thought that being a wizard was incredible, like it was the next step in human development or something similar. Now I realise that they are just people with a particular talent, people with the same foibles as the rest of us."

"Yes, but in our defence, we have the same virtues also," Barbara replied.

Mrs Porter reached out one arm and affectionately hugged the younger woman. "I haven't lost sight of that, Barbara. Hmmm, I seem to have made too many to fit into the box. I'll pour some tea and the two of us can discuss what to do with the excess."

Barbara smiled. "Smashing idea."

"Well, Doctor Doolittle, have you gotten any of them to say anything yet?" Robert Porter light-heartedly asked his son who was leaned against a stall gate.

"Yeah, they said if you give them some double-malt whiskey, they could fly as well as Madame Maxine's horses," Henry answered turning toward his father.

"Really, now?" his father blandly said stroking his chin. "Any particular brand?"

Henry smiled tossing up his hands. "Damn. The joke falls apart because I don't drink anything stronger then butterbeer."

"That's a fizzy drink, I presume?" Robert Porter said.

"Yeah, it's kinda like a cross between ginger beer and butterscotch," Henry answered. "I'm not too wild about it but since it's made by witches, it's the only one available at Hogwarts."

"Maybe you should take some Pepsi back with you?"

"No," Henry said. "I'm mostly trying to drink water, milk, and juice these days. It's healthier."

"Yeah, it is," Mr Porter laughed. "But when you say so it makes you sound forty instead of fourteen. Looking forward to the Yule Ball tonight?"

"Sure, well, in a way," Henry replied. "The only dances I know are the ballroom ones that mom taught me but I doubt if _The Weird Sisters_ play anything like that."

"No, with a name like that they don't sound like a string quartet," Mr Porter agreed.

"No, they aren't," Henry concurred. "But with Maggie, Chris, and everyone there, it should to be fun anyway."

"Sounds like you got some good friends, son," Mr Porter said seriously. "Keep that in mind when you start to feel that the world is against you because of this snake talking pip."

"Yes, sir, I will," Henry promised. "You know, I don't care what _The Daily Prophet_ prints or what some of the older students think but what bothers me is the kids in my form, kids that have gotten to know me well over the last three years who get …I don't know…leery around me, I guess."

Henry's father nodded. "Everyone's your brother until the rent comes due. It disheartens you when people you like turn against you but what you must avoid is allowing the situation to turn you bitter. Forgive them and get on with your life. Believe me, you'll be the better for it."

"So you've always taught me," Henry replied.

"That's because I've seen what hate does," Mr Porter said sadly. "It gets hidden under all the commercialism but today we celebrate the birth of someone who said that all people everywhere were called on to love one another. A radical idea, maybe an unobtainable ideal but it would be a truly wonderful world if everyone did just that."

"Yes, it would," his son agreed.

"Until the outbreak of universal brotherhood, Henry," Mr Porter continued. "Keep in mind two things. First, your mother and I love you very much."

"I love you, too, Dad."

"And second, remember that you have do some true friends."

"Yeah, I do," Henry acknowledged. "More friends then I ever had before."

"Don't be too proud to turn to them when you're troubled," his father said.

"Yes, sir," Henry promised.

"Well, enough lecturing," Mr Porter said self-effacingly. "Let's go back into the house before your mother eats all the biscuits she's making."

He laid an arm across his son's shoulders gently directing him toward the stable doors.

"You're getting taller," he mused as they walked out of the barn.

"I'm still the shortest boy in my form," Henry replied. "But it works out okay since Maggie's the shortest girl."

"Life has a way of working itself out," his father said. "A lot of people bemoan troubled times but it is in adversity that you realise your potential. From trial come champions."

"That's fine as long as you're not the one left at the gate," Henry quipped.

"I'm too good of a trainer to have raised anything but a champion," intoned Mr Porter.

Mrs Porter and Barbara were laughing over something one or the other had said when Henry and his father walked through the kitchen door.

"Happy Christmas," Barbara said.

"Happy Christmas, Barbara," the Porter men responded.

"You're early, aren't you?" Henry added.

"I don't know, Henry? You tell us," Mrs Porter answered. "Do you plan on going directly from a barn to the ball?"

"Oh, c'mon, Mom, I _did_ plan on a shower," Henry replied. "But that doesn't take long."

"So, a quick shower then throw on some clothes and head for the dance?"

"Well, yeah," Henry answered in a less then confident voice.

Mrs Porter and Barbara looked at him enigmatically. Henry glanced to his father silently begging for guidance.

Mr Porter chuckled. "Son, just nod your head and promise to do what ever Barbara and your mother tell you. You'll end up doing it anyway so save yourself the aggravation."

Henry brought his hands flat together and bowed his head over them. "As my father commands."

"He didn't used to be so cheeky," Barbara joked.

"Teenager and smartarse are synonyms," Mrs Porter laughed. "But in seriousness, Henry, you need to look your best tonight. It will be very important to Maggie."

"Why?"

"Henry, you and probably most of the boys at your school see this as just a dance but this Yule Ball will a major event in Maggie's and every other girl's life. It will be something that they will look back upon for years," Mrs Porter said. "And while boys may not pay attention to such matters, every girl, to one degree or another, will be comparing herself to and competing with every other girl at the dance and the boy on her arm is very much a part of that equation."

"I don't think Maggie and Hermione are like that," Henry protested.

The women shook their heads in mirth.

"Hermione will be with Victor Krum, an international quidditch star," Barbara began. "And Maggie will be with you who, thanks to _The Daily Prophet, _currently hold the title of 'most notorious boy wizard in Britain' and girls do love their bad boys. Trust me, dear heart; both know that they have a leg up on the competition as soon they step into the great hall and both are going to savour the moment. Unless, that is, you show up looking like you just rolled out of bed."

"That seems too weird for words to me," Henry said.

"Oh, guys don't compare girls?" Barbara asked coyly.

"Yeah, but…" Henry floundered. "Well, we're guys."

"Well, guy, as much as I have treasured having you home for the last few days, you do need to get back to Hogwarts," his mother said. "Maggie is a sweet girl and deserves having you at your smartest. I can guarantee that she is getting ready as we speak."

"But its hours and hours before the dance," contended Henry.

"That's not that long," Barbara replied. "In all likelihood, most of the girls skipped Christmas dinner and hopped into the floo as soon as they were done opening their gifts this morning. I would have."

Henry started to speak but his father put a hand on his shoulder. After a quick nod to him, the boy surrendered.

"Okay, I'll go get my stuff."

A very brief time later found Barbara and Henry walking side-by-side along a noisy stream that meandered through the Porter's pastures, past a small wood then by the now fallow fields of the Thane farm before joining with the River Trent further along. Snow crunched under their feet. The sun shone wanly in the grey sky but no wind disturbed the branches of the ash and willow trees barren save for the occasional sprig of mistletoe.

"I hope that your mother and I didn't shatter too many of your illusions," Barbara said.

"No, not really," Henry answered. "I didn't know girls were that competitive with one another but frankly, I never thought about it."

"We are, especially at that age," Barbara said. "It probably lies in our most basic instincts about promulgating the species. When your strip away romance and carnal pleasure, that what it boils down to."

"That sounds so…"

"Primal." Barbara supplied.

"Yeah," Henry agreed.

"In the end it is," Barbara said. "But romance is a wonderful thing. When you're in love, everything seems better."

"Anyone special in your life?" asked Henry.

Barbara shook her head ruefully. "No. I could say that my apprenticeship doesn't leave me much time for a relationship but I'd only be lying to myself. In reality no one interesting has shown any interest in me, lately."

"But you're one of the most incredible women in the world," Henry protested.

"You are a silver-tongued rascal, aren't you?" Barbara laughed.

"Well, you are," Henry said.

"Thank you, Henry," Barbara replied. "I appreciate that. I'm not desperately trolling the streets of London or Nottingham looking for a man but one would be nice."

"I still can't believe no one is interested in you," Henry replied.

"Oh, I get my share of passes but I'm looking for something more then a quick lay," Barbara replied stumbling over a root hidden under the snow. "I'm sure that I'll find what I'm looking for."

"You don't have to wade through the snow on my account, Barbara," Henry said. "You can apparate back to your house if you want to. I'll be along shortly."

"No way," Barbara replied merrily. "I love walking outside on days like this. The crisp bite to the air. The fields and hills covered in snow. The peace and solitude. I come alive."

Henry understood. "People sometimes ask me why I run nearly every day. That's what I tell them. It makes me feel alive."

"I've been meaning to ask you for a long time," began Barbara as her expression sobered. "Being neighbours, your parents and I talk frequently. Exactly how much do you tell them about what's going on in your life? Your letters to me are fairly open so I don't want to inadvertently mention something that you have been keeping from them."

Henry looked pained. "I never lie to them exactly but neither do I tell them as much as they think I do. At least, I hope that they don't realise that."

"Lies of omission," Barbara guessed.

"Yeah," the boy admitted. "They love me so naturally they would want to protect me. I don't think that I would be able to convince them that ultimately I am safest where it seems that I am in the most danger."

"Do they know about Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, I told them," Henry said. "It didn't bother mom or dad. There weren't any surprises for anyone since I already knew that I was their adopted son. The only change was that they got together with the goblins at Gringotts to set up an investment scheme for my Potter money. According to Mr Hackaxe, instead of it just sitting there collecting a small interest, its value has increased eight and three-quarters percent over the last year."

"Well, well, handsome, intelligent and rich." Barbara teased him.

"Don't forget notorious."

"And notorious," Barbara added lightly. "Do you ever get the urge to reveal yourself? Put a stop to all of the muggleborn bias."

Henry shook his head. "No, never. As far as I can tell, it would only make matters worse. As it is, this Triwizards crap has shone more light on me then I need. I haven't been able to move as freely as I once did. I cannot afford to have anyone take a close look at the after class clubs or notice the time that I spend with certain professors. I need that training."

"You've had to grow up too quickly," Barbara said sadly.

"Yeah, maybe," Henry replied. "But it gives me a chance to grow old."

Barbara clasped Henry's gloved hand. They walked the rest of the way to the Thane home in silence.

Henry staggered, barely keeping his feet, as his journey through the floo network abruptly ended in the massive entrance hall of Hogwarts. Normally, the castle was isolated from the floo network but to allow students to go home for the Christmas holiday yet return for the Yule Ball, the Headmaster linked one fireplace to it.

Henry was certain that there were enchantments placed on the single fireplace to prevent mischief. Furthermore, he noticed several house elves standing beside Professor Flitwick, who was tallying the students as they returned. Many wizards underestimated the elves potent magic.

"Porter, Henry," the charms teacher cried out in a firm voice.

A quill dipped itself into an inkpot then quickly made a check on the scroll that lay on the writing table.

"Smooth landing," George Weasley quipped. He was standing with his three brothers.

"Henry, if you would, hand your satchel to Thyme. For security, you understand, it must be examined," Professor Flitwick said. "Did you come through a temporary link?"

"No, Professor," Henry answered, turning his bag over to the elf who stepped forward. "I used the fireplace of my neighbours, the Thanes."

"Excellent, one less complication," the diminutive man said.

"No dark magic," Thyme piped up, returning Henry's bag.

"Very good," said Professor Flitwick. "I hope that you enjoyed your abbreviated holiday."

"I did, sir" Henry replied. "And, if I may, happy Christmas to you."

"And to you all also," Henry directed toward the elves.

"Happy Christmas," Professor Flitwick responded cheerfully as the elves chorused the same. "Best be getting ready, now, Henry. Can't have a Hogwarts champion looking anything less then princely in front of our guests, can we?"

"Don't worry, professor," Henry chortled. "The women in my life have already lectured me on the subject."

With a warm smile and a wave, the charms teacher sent Henry on his way. Percy, whom Henry was surprised to see back at Hogwarts, had left but Fred, George, and Ron were waiting for Henry.

"Hi, Happy Christmas," Henry said joining the brothers as they walked toward the main staircase. "Where's Ginny?"

"She's been here for hours," Fred said shaking his head. "Missed out on a fantastic Christmas pudding."

"We were obliged to eat her share for her," George said in feigned sorrow. "The things we do for those we love."

"Barbara said that she thought most of the girls would get here early," Henry told them.

"And how is the fair Miss Thane these days," Fred asked.

"And has she ever mentioned any fantasies about redheads by chance?" George asked.

"Well and no," Henry answered.

"Excellent and crushing," George said.

"Here's our exit," Fred said "See you at the ball,"

Ron and Henry watched the twins bound enthusiastically up the stairs.

"I really don't wanna do this," Ron moaned. "But at least Maggie was able to alter my dress robes into something presentable."

"Why did you ask Luna if you didn't want to go to the ball?" Henry asked.

"Ginny," Ron replied. "She said that I had two choices. She could make my life a living hell or I could take Luna to the Yule Ball."

"Did you flip a coin?" asked Henry.

"Hell, no," Ron barked. "I went straight away and asked Luna. Don't let Ginny fool you. That girl can be mean. She would have made my life miserable."

"And you love her too much to fight back," Henry said.

"Oh, yeah and does she ever take advantage of that," Ron grumbled.

"Luna's a great girl," Henry said.

"Yeah, she is. A better girl then I deserve," said Ron. "But she scares me."

"You're afraid of Luna?" asked Henry incredulously.

Ron shrugged. "You know, not exactly afraid but, you know, she makes me skittish. I feel naked around her, like she can read my mind or something."

"I'm sorry but I just don't see it," Henry said.

"I know," Ron sighed. "It's just me. As you said, she's a great girl. I'll see you later."

"Later," Henry said as the boys parted.

The Hufflepuff common room was crowded when Henry entered. Some conversations hushed as more then one pair of eyes darted his way while others pointedly ignored his arrival.

"Ah, Henry, there you are," Ernie Macmillan said striding over to him.

"Happy Christmas, Ernie," he replied somewhat startled. Ernie, like most of the Hufflepuffs, while not hostile to Henry had been treading carefully around him as if he were a volatile potion that could explode at anytime.

"Happy Christmas," Ernie replied extending his hand. "Henry, I'd like to apologise for my suspicions and the way I've been acting toward you. If you're a dark wizard then I'm Brian Boru."

"It's alright," Henry replied shaking the Irish lad's hand.

"Thank you," Ernie said sincerely. "You know, I've been thinking…"

"That's dangerous," interrupted Justin Finch-Fletchley as he joined the pair.

Ernie laughed. "Anyway, I think that it's likely that there have been some good wizards who were parselmouths but they kept it secret. Who needs that kind of grief?"

"Believe me, if I had known, I'd kept it secret," Henry replied emphatically.

"I'll wager," Justin said before clearing his throat. "I've been going along with the crowd on this, Henry. I should have known better. I'm sorry."

"No problem," Henry replied happily. "Well, I have got to get ready."

"You've got time," Justin said. "How about a game of cribbage?"

"Thanks but I can't," Henry replied.

"Its hours before the dance," Ernie insisted.

"I know," Henry groaned. "But being one of then champions, I think that I'm going to have to pass a dozen inspections beforehand."

"Better you then me, mate," Ernie chuckled.

Henry tossed his satchel onto his bed when he entered his dorm room. What exactly to do next eluded him. In the absence of a plan of action, he sat down on his trunk and stared at the large wardrobe before him.

"_I was wondering when you would arrive."_

His fingers found the pendant under his shirt. _"I'm learning that men and women have different concepts of time." _

_No, we don't. The difference lies in the amount of time it takes for a man to look smart as opposed to what it takes for woman to accomplish the same task."_

"_You never look anything but beautiful, Maggie."_

"_Thank you but one day you'll see me when I first awaken in the morning with my hair a mess and with breath that would gag a thestral." _

"_I look forward to it."_

"_Really, Henry? Do you know where I am now?"_

Henry cast his mind outward._ "Your mother's apartment."_

"_Yes but more specifically, I'm in a large tub that could easily accommodate two. Scented bubbles are lapping against…"_

"_Please, Maggie. I am going to have to see your mother tonight. If I show up drooling, she'll probably turn me into basset hound."_

"_I'm sorry, Henry. I should not dangle something in front of you that you cannot have. I need to talk to Doctor Murray. I think that the hormones are starting to affect me."_

"_That's what they're supposed to do." _

"_Yes. I'll see you in a little while, Henry. I love you."_

"_I love you, too."_

Henry did not have to pass a dozen inspections but it was close. Professor Sprout _just_ happened to drop in on the Hufflepuff common room moments after the Fat Friar declared himself satisfied with Cedric's and Henry's appearance. Her examination took a bit longer then the ghost's but in the end, she was equally pleased.

"You both do Hufflepuff proud," she gushed.

The Headmaster, who was in the entrance hall supervising the disconnection of the fireplace from the floo network, gave the boys an once-over when the two Hufflepuffs emerged from the stairwell.

His blue eyes twinkled over his half-moon glasses. "Don't break too many hearts, tonight."

Henry was willing to believe that it was pure chance that he met Professors Sinistra and Trelawney descending to the great hall as he was going up to the McGonagall apartment although Professor Trelawney insisted that their meeting was predestined. Both women scrutinized his shoes, robe, and the jaw that he shaved for the first time ever that morning.

"You look handsome, Mr Porter," Professor Sinistra said. "Enjoy yourself tonight."

"Thank you," Henry said. "Yes, ma'am, I will."

"Be wary, Mr Porter," Professor Trelawney dramatically intoned. "I see danger in your near future."

"Yes, ma'am," Henry replied politely stifling the ruder comment that first leaped to mind.

Henry finally stood before Professor McGonagall's apartment. Despite the several inspections, he gave himself a quick scan. He knew that his toughest critic would be on the other side of the door. His mouth was suddenly very dry while his palms were a veritable lake.

"This is ridiculous," he chided himself. "It's just a dance. You've knew both of them for three years. You love them. They love you. Well, Maggie does, anyway. Nothing has changed."

Still his knock was less then forcefully. Hesitant rap or not, the door swung open. Professor McGonagall stood towering in the doorway. She wore dress robes of red tartan. Her silver hair was styled in a formal knotted updo. He had never seen a photograph of Professor McGonagall as a young woman but he got the sudden impression that she must have been a knockout.

"Good evening, Professor," Henry said covering his nervousness with formality. "May I compliment you on your appearance?"

She saw though his stiffness to his apprehension. As her daughter had guessed, she was aware of how stern she could appear at times. She smiled. Henry's tense body relaxed slightly.

"Thank you, Mr Porter. Come in," she said stepping back from the doorway. "You can never go wrong complimenting a woman on her appearance even if she insists that she would scare a ghoul."

"I'll remember that, ma'am."

"Allow me to say that you look quite the blade tonight. Your green robes match your eyes." Professor McGonagall said closing the door.

"A couple of my housemates accused me of wearing Slytherin's colours." He replied. "But that's what the woman in Diagon Alley recommended when I went to buy dress robes."

"What's that in your hand?" she asked.

"Oh, it's a corsage," Henry said abruptly remembering the box in his hand. "I know that it's a muggle custom but I wasn't sure if it was a wizarding one or not so I got one just to be safe and I wanted to get Maggie one anyway so I did."

Professor McGonagall laughed. "Mr Porter, relax. I'm not going to toss you out of the window or transfigure you into a snail."

Henry ran a hand over his head. "Sorry, ma'am. I don't know why I'm so edgy. It's our first real date unless you count the Hogsmeade weekend but I've known Maggie for years."

"Please be sitting," Professor McGonagall said pointing toward the parlour set where they gathered for their animagus training. "It is more likely that it is the ball itself that you are nervous about then being with Maggie."

"I feel like I'm going to be on display at Tattersalls," Henry confessed as he sat.

"Which is what?" Professor McGonagall asked taking the chair across from him. She knew but talking about anything but the Yule Ball would ease the boy's tension.

"They're horse auctioneers," Henry explained. "Down in Newmarket. If you want a thoroughbred, that's where to go in Britain."

"Do you still wish to raise horses when you're grown," she asked.

"Yes, Professor, even if that may strike some other wizards as strange," Henry answered. "I can't think of anything else that I want to do."

"Then do so, Mr Porter. The happiest people are those whose avocation and vocation are one in the same," Professor McGonagall stated. "I cannot imagine being anything but a teacher. I have found it to be very rewarding. Only motherhood has been more so."

"Do you think that I'll get the chance?" Henry asked quietly.

Professor McGonagall leaned forward and stared Henry in the face. "One day I'll walk across the meadows of your farm with yours and Maggie's son holding one of my hands while your daughter holds my other."

"Do you believe that, Mum?"

Startled, Henry whirled around as he stood. Maggie ignored him keeping her attention on her slowly rising mother.

"Yes, my dearest one, I do," Professor McGonagall said. "Doctor Murray is undoubtedly a skilled physician but being a muggle, even one married to a wizard, I do not think that she can fully comprehend the talents of the healers at St. Mungo's."

Henry caught the briefest of glimpses of Maggie's tear-filled eyes as she flew past him into her mother's arms.

"I think that I'm missing the key point, once again," he thought, watching the sobbing Maggie cling to her mother.

Minerva allowed her daughter to cry for nearly a minute before she tenderly but firmly broke the embrace.

"Go wash your face, Maggie," she said gently. "You have kept your young man waiting long enough."

"Yes, mum," she replied. "I'm sorry, Henry, my emotions are all over the place lately. I'll return directly"

"I'll be here," Henry told her.

Professor McGonagall waited until the lavatory door closed behind Maggie before speaking. "I believe that the hormone regimen is starting to work on Maggie. I'm not a healer but I have decades of experience with adolescents. Erratic emotions are one of the signs of the onset of puberty."

"Yeah, one hour you feel like the king of the world and the next you want to crawl into a cave," Henry said staring at the door Maggie disappeared behind. "It's one of the worst parts."

The professor noted the boy's inattentiveness. "What's the worst part for you, Mr Porter?"

"The constant urge to…"

A red-faced Henry audibly clamped his mouth shut.

"Please do continue, Mr Porter," Professor McGonagall evenly said thoroughly enjoying the boy's discomfort.

"I rather go find that cave if it's all the same to you, Professor," he croaked.

Henry wanted to flee but he stood his ground as she walked over to him and clasped his shoulders.

"The constant urge as you so succinctly put it is another normal aspect of puberty," the professor began seriously. "And being a normal boy, I know precisely what is going on in your mind but Maggie related to me what you told her when she informed you of her need to remain chaste. You're a good boy, Henry, and one day you'll be a fine man, a man worthy of my daughter."

If the professor's words and calling him by his first name surprised Henry, he was stunned when she pulled him into a hug.

Maggie had opened door of the lavatory when her mother was saying 'you're a good boy'. When her mother hugged Henry, she closed it again her tears flowing anew. It was nearly ten more minutes before she could leave the loo.

Henry was standing by the window when she finally emerged, face repaired and emotions corralled. He turned at the sound of her heels clicking on the floor. He had always thought her pretty but tonight, she was a vision. Like Henry, she wore hunter green, a charmeuse single piece gown with puffed sleeves and a scooped neckline. Her make-up accented rather then hid the paleness of her skin and in a way that Henry could not fathom, changed the shape of her normally droopy eyes. The scent she wore was tantalizingly elusive. Around her neck was the silver chain, the pendant hidden beneath the bodice.

"Say something, Henry," Maggie demanded as the silence lengthened.

"If I may quote the Bard," Henry said. "Silence is the perfectest herald of joy."

"Perhaps," Maggie replied. "But I want to hear your voice."

"If the ancient Greeks saw you, they would add another grace to their pantheon," Henry said stepping forward. "This is for you."

He extracted the corsage from the box. It was a spray of white roses, yellow statice, and ivy leaves bound together by a white ribbon. Henry chose it because he liked it but it serendipitously matched her gown perfectly. Lovingly, he sat it on her wrist.

"It's beautiful, Henry."

"It pales beside you."

She smiled, caressing his cheek. "I can't muss my lipstick now but remind me to kiss you once the ball begins."

"I will."

"Where's mum?" she asked looking around.

"She left a few minutes ago." Henry said.

"We better hurry," Maggie said spying at the clock on the mantle. "We're almost late."

An exasperated Professor McGonagall looked up as Maggie and Henry descended the staircase to the entrance hall. She had been on the verge of sending an house elf after them.

"We were about to begin without you two," she said. "Everyone else has gone in. As I have already told the others, at the signal, the champions and their partners will march in, make their way to the main table and take the seats assigned to them. And by march, I mean an even, stately walk. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Yes, mum."

"Now, I want all eight of you to bear in mind the honour and dignity of your schools," Professor McGonagall continued in a lighter tone. "But remember to enjoy yourselves, also."

A chorus of assent answered the professor before she turned and entered the great hall closing the door behind her. The four couples lined up. Fleur Delacour took the first position nearest the door. Roger Davies was her escort. He had the expression of a man who won the national lottery and earned a place on the New Year's Honour's list on the same day. Henry wondered if he was going to be able to take his eyes off the Beauxbatons champion long enough to navigate the great hall.

Cedric Diggory, after a quick wave to Henry, took the place behind them. His date was Cho Chang, the pretty seeker for the Ravenclaw side.

Victor and Hermione stood next but instead of facing the doors they turned to talk to Henry and Maggie. Hermione was dream. She managed to straighten her normally bushy hair. It was glossy and done up in such an elegant, elaborate knot, Henry wondered how she accomplished it in one day. Her periwinkle-blue gown was vaguely medieval which was fitting since she was holding herself in a regal manner.

"I have had to use the word beautiful over and over tonight but I can think of no other," Henry told her. "You're beautiful, Hermione."

Hermione beamed. "It is a repetition that will not grow tiresome, Henry. Feel free to keep saying it."

"I pity any man not us tonight, my friend," Victor said. "I with the angel. You with the samodiva."

"Thank you," Maggie replied. Henry had no clue as to what a samodiva was but Maggie accepted it graciously so he assumed that it must be a compliment.

A fanfare suddenly blared and the main doors swung slowly open. Victor and Hermione quickly turned around. The procession of champions opened the Yule Ball.

It was nearly midnight. The dreamy smile would not leave Maggie's lips as she gazed slowly around the ball trying to chisel every detail of the evening into her memory. From the opening waltz where Henry spun her expertly around the floor to the speculative looks from many of the boys to the endless stream of compliments from the girls to punch that the Weasley Brothers managed to spike (thanks to Professor Moody's wilfully blind eye) the night had been perfect. She felt like Cinderella except that Maggie thought that the fairy tale princess in the Disney film could not have had as much fun at her ball as Maggie had at hers.

"Everyone looked too good at midnight for that to have happened," she thought cheerfully noting the state of her gown.

The pristine finery which she had entered the ball in was now somewhat rumpled after hours of dancing but it went unnoticed since every one else was in the same state of happy dishevelment. Her hair was damp and what was left of her lipstick was mostly on Henry.

She was sitting with her friends in a haphazard circle of chairs in one corner of the great hall. Henry sat by her with his arm wrapped around her waist. The tie that began the night around his neck was nowhere in sight as a bead of sweat crept unnoticed down his jaw. He, Luna, and Hermione were laughing at a story that Chris was telling which grew more outrageous by the sentence. Ron, seated across from Victor Krum, watched raptly as the Bulgarian seeker made hand gestures demonstrating various quidditch moves to him. Ginny had yet to leave the dance floor. When Chris, pleading exhaustion, begged off thirty minutes earlier, she simply found another guy.

The McNarney Girls had disappeared with Fred and George more then two hours earlier taking advantage of the up until then vigilant Professor Sprout hitting the dance floor with Ludo Bagman showing the moves that made her a jitterbug legend back in her school days.

"I'll get a blow-by-blow account in the morning, no doubt," Maggie thought when she noticed her oldest friends' absence. She paused, blushed and giggled. "Okay, maybe not the best choice of words."

Professor Dumbledore walked onto the stage as The Weird Sisters finished their song. Myron Wagtail leaned over as the old man spoke into his ear. The singer nodded once and then stepped forward.

"Are you having fun?" he shouted.

A roar of assent answered him.

"We loved Hogwarts when we were students here and it's been a real blast for us to be back," he chuckled. "I tell ya, we've played before bigger audiences but we haven't played for a better one. Give it up for yourselves!"

The kids stomped and clapped. Several shot sparkles and stars from their wands.

"It's been great," Myron cried before continuing in a low seductive voice. "But, before we go, one last slow song for the lovers out there."

Professor Dumbledore waved his wand. All of the overhead candles had their flames snuffed out in an instant. The hall was plunged into a romantic twilight bathed only in the glow of the stars and full moon of the enchanted ceiling.

"Have you got the energy for one last dance, Chris?" Ginny asked materializing at his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah," Chris smiled and took her hand. Maggie watched her friends paired up and head for the dance floor as the first notes sounded.

"Take a look," she quietly said to Henry nodding toward the dais.

Under Henry's discreet gaze, the Headmaster led Professor McGonagall to the centre of the great hall. Dumbledore's eyes never left her face as he took her into his arms and tenderly began to spin her about in a dance that Henry knew had to come from an era far removed from the modern world. It was stately, deliberate, and modest yet it screamed romance with every step.

"They are so in love with each other," Maggie said huskily, tears welling in her eyes. "I wish the Headmaster would put aside his fears and marry her."

"He's afraid to get married?" Henry asked in surprise.

"He was married a long, long time ago," Maggie mournfully replied. "It fell apart. Mrs Dumbledore left him and with their two young daughters in tow moved to New Zealand. It scarred him badly."

"But if he's in love…" Henry said.

"I guess that sometimes love isn't enough, Henry," she answered sadly.

"No, Maggie," Henry disagreed in a firm but kind voice. "Love is all that is needed. Love is greater then any fear, any tribulation, any obstacle."

Maggie smiled gloriously at him. "I love you, Henry. I would face anything, go anywhere, and do anything, if you ask me to."

Henry kissed her gently. "Will you dance with me?"

A/N: the final section was added at the behest of Fae Childe 19


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

The Misplaced Potter 2

Chapter 5

_In which an egg is creaked_

Chris gratefully welcomed the wave of heat that crashed over him as he entered the room of requirement. It had been a long, cold, lonely walk back from Hogsmeade. An inexorable January wind dove from the great peaks that rose about the castle and village. Like an invisible avalanche, it buried everything under a rushing torrent of frigid air. It rattled the cottages and shook the trees. Loose snow, roughly seized from ground, branches, and rooftops, swirled in the wind's wicked currents creating the illusion of a fresh storm. It viciously pelted anyone foolhardy enough to be outside on such a day.

Reaching the school meant little in the way of shelter. The ancient corridors of Hogwarts offered limited sanctuary from the ravages of winter. The thick stonework of the great castle absorbed the scant heat greedily. Wind and snow blasted through the arrow loops, still not bricked over in yet another impractical concession to tradition. Chris shook his head in disgust and dismay as he waded across puddles of slowly melting snow on his way to his destination.

Henry and Hermione were the room's only two occupants when Chris arrived there. It was still saving for the cheerfully creaking flames in the fireplace. His cousin was sitting closed-eyed and cross-legged on a large pouf with the golden egg protectively cradled in his lap. Nearby, curled up on a settee, Hermione was reading _Sense and Sensibility. _ A tea service sat on the low table before her.

"Hi, Chris," she quietly said glancing up from her book with a smile.

"Hi," he replied wearily shedding his heavy wool overcoat, hat and gloves draping them over the back of the couch. "I thought that you would have been in Hogsmeade with Victor."

"He's on their ship today," Hermione responded. "It is a feast day of some sorts for Durmstrang celebrating the birth of its founder or greatest teacher or something. No outsiders allowed."

"Henry's taken the train to Tranceborough, I see," Chris said nodding toward his cousin.

"Yes," she replied. She sat upright, laying her novel aside as she took note of the scrap over his eye. "You've hurt yourself. Did you slip on ice?"

"No," Chris said dropping heavily next to her. "Maggie's not back yet?"

"No, not yet," his friend replied. "I think that Professor McGonagall decided to take advantage of Maggie's doctor's appointment in Edinburgh for the two of them to take a long weekend there."

"I know that I would have," chuckled Chris. "Decent restaurants, football, the theatre, the cinema…"

"Shopping, book stores, paved walks," Hermione added with longing as she poured a cup of tea for him.

"Thank you," an appreciative Chris said accepting the steaming mug. "In a word, civilisation. Maybe we should transfer to Salem or Wolfe. My sister raved about Toronto after she visited there a few years back."

"I would not care to leave Britain but there are days that the thought of attending school in a city, even an American or a Canadian one, instead the bowels of a mountain range is very appealing, indeed," she wistfully replied.

"Oh, quite," Chris agreed emphatically between sips, relishing the soul-soothing warmth of the tea. "Really, when you stop to think about it, a magic academy in a city wouldn't be that difficult to operate. Just make it unplottable. Add a few disillusionment charms on your grounds to keep away the curious. All that you would have to give up is quidditch and the odd animal or two for the Care of Magical Creatures class."

"Just toss out CMC entirely, if you ask me," Hermione grumbled. "It's a chocolate teapot. Once I leave here, I do not intend to have anything to do with hippogriffs or blast-ended skrewts."

"I agree," replied Chris. "Or, if they don't get rid of it, make it an elective course instead of a requirement."

"Yes, at the very least," Hermione concurred. "Now, back to the original subject that you so deftly waltzed around; how did you hurt yourself?"

He grinned sheepishly. "The Weasley boys and I got into a bit of a bundle down in the village with some Slytherins."

Hermione arched her eyebrows in surprise. Even though they were both part of Professor Dumbledore's martial arts club, she could not envision the gentlemanly, even-tempered Chris in a street brawl. Many times, she had seen him smooth over disagreements between his fellow Gryffindors with a few measured words and a friendly joke before they could escalate into something more serious.

"Really," she asked. "What started it?"

"Warrington made a vulgar remark insinuating that George and Fred traded Bess and Bridget back and forth," he answered. "As hard as Fred hit him, he's probably still out."

Hermione nodded in understanding. Chris was a peaceful guy but he never shirked from defending a friend. She recalled how quick he was to snap at her the day they met when she chastised Henry for fighting on platform 9 ¾.

"But he wasn't alone," Hermione surmised.

"Gits always travel in packs," Chris replied. "He had seven mates with him so it was a donnybrook for a while."

"Seven against three…" Hermione began.

"Four," Chris corrected her. "Me, Fred, George, and Ron."

"Seven against four," Hermione continued. "It sounds like a football hooligan's holiday."

"I am a loyal supporter of Arsenal," Chris replied in mock indignation. "We Gooners are not hooligans."

"I won't go there," she quipped. "I'm glad that you weren't hurt worse. How are the Weasley brothers?"

"They're in about the same shape that I'm in," Chris answered. "We did not give them either the time or the space to use wands and they weren't that good when they had to fall back on their physical abilities."

Hermione shook her head. "So who clouted you?"

"Montague," he replied. "He scarcely grazed me but he had a ring on his pinkie. That's what did the cutting."

"With that lot, you might want to check for poison," she said not entirely in jest.

"Ron did," laughed Chris. "Snape will likely be displeased with Montague that it wasn't."

"The next potions class will be unpleasant," she said ruefully.

"Undoubtedly," Chris responded. "But we couldn't walk away from that insult."

"No, I suppose not," Hermione reluctantly agreed. "However, if that's your only injury, why did you come back so early? It's still a few hours before sunset."

Chris sighed deeply.

"Ah, let's be friends," she guessed. She had seen the signs but had kept silent.

He chuckled regretfully. "Essentially. I cannot say that I didn't see it coming but…"

"But still it hurts," Hermione mournfully finished.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Ginny was my first serious girlfriend."

Hermione held out a dish of cinnamon scones it to her companion. Chris plucked one from the plate.

"You share mum's philosophy of applying food to psychic wounds," he said with a small sad grin.

"No, I follow the practical philosophy of making do with what's at hand," she countered. "By chance, it happened to be scones."

"That reminds me," he replied, rummaging through the pockets of the coat he draped across the back of the couch. "I got you some chocoballs from Honeyduke's."

"Thank you," Hermione said accepting the small gaily-coloured box from him. She hesitated slightly before continuing. "Chris, I don't wish to seem indifferent but you and Ginny are both dear friends of mine. Please, don't bring me into the middle of your break-up. I refuse to take sides."

"Don't worry," he replied as he finished his cup. "There aren't any sides to take. There aren't going to be any rows in the common room or anywhere else, for that matter. As I said, I saw it coming. I like Ginny but truly, we have little in common. A fact that became more glaringly obvious the longer we dated."

Hermione smiled in both sympathy and relief. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"What's to talk about?" he replied briskly. "It was fun now, its over. It is a punch in the gut but life goes on. Thank you for the concern though."

"As I said, you're my friend," she said pouring him another cuppa

"And I am grateful that you are," Chris replied squeezing her hand as he took the tea from her.

Hermione returned the gesture before reaching for her novel. Chris settled back onto the couch pushing Ginny from his thoughts. He instead sank contentedly deeper into the cushions musing idly on the egg as he basked in the simple luxury of warmth and comfort.

The secret of the golden egg was proving more elusive then a ghost in a fog. When opened, the egg produced an unbearably horrible screeching noise. They were certain that the cacophony contained the key to the next task but they had yet been able to decipher it. No one could bear to listen to it for more then a few seconds and those small snatches were meaningless to them. They tried earplugs, muffling it with pillows, and standing at a distance. Nothing had worked so far and February was looming on the near horizon.

Henry's eyelids popped open. With catlike stealth and grace, he unfolded himself from the ottoman. He was standing before either of his companions noticed that he was out of his trance.

"Well?" Hermione asked simply.

Henry stretched. "Did you ever see _The Voyage Home_, the fourth _Star Trek_ film?"

"That was the one with the whales, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," he confirmed. "They had a message that they could not make sense of either."

"Until they filtered it through another medium besides air," Chris said excitedly.

Henry nodded. "We'll start with water. If that doesn't work, we'll try something else. What happened to your face?"

"A fight," Chris said dismissively. "Room, may we have a large cauldron filled with water, please?"

"A tub would be better," Hermione said. "With warm water."

An enormous, old-fashioned, freestanding tub materialized between the couch and the wall. It was filled three-quarters way with water that lapped gently against the sides.

"Thank you," Henry said. He knew that the castle had awareness although he did not have any idea if it understood courtesy. It cost him nothing to be on the safe side. Henry definitely did not want the castle angry with him even if the Fat Friar assured him that Hogwarts was not malevolent.

After handing the egg to Chris, Henry pulled off his sweatshirt and undershirt dropping them on top of his cousin's coat. Hermione smiled slightly as she stole a quick covert look at Henry's well-developed upper body but her eyes narrowed suspiciously when she spotted the small marble pendant resting on his chest.

"Do you plan on stripping completely?" Chris jokingly asked.

"Hardly," Henry replied retrieving the egg. "If we are on the right track then I may not have to go into the water at all. If I do then I'll dunk my head but I don't want to get my shirt wet."

"It's called a drying charm," his cousin quipped. "Check into it."

"It's called not having a wet shirt clinging to my neck and shoulders while trying to ascertain whether or not the water works on the egg," Henry countered.

He walked over to the far side of the tub. Hermione and Chris took up positions at opposite ends. Shoving the egg into the water, he quickly twisted it open. The trio heard the caterwauling of the egg. The water effectively kept the noise well below an ear splitting level but it still remain a meaningless din.

"Plan B, I guess," Henry said.

Taking a deep breath, he dunked his head and shoulders into the water. After a moment, he cursorily motioned to his friends. Hermione and Chris glanced at each other. With a shrug, both bent over the edge of the tub following Henry into the water.

"_Come where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you're searching, ponder this:_

_We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you'll have to look, _

_And to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour-the prospect's bleak,_

_Too late, it's gone, and won't come back." _1

After listening to the message twice more, Henry carefully closed the egg and eased out of the tub.

"Excellent," he said happily.

"Disappointing, actually," Chris said.

"How so?" Hermione asked.

"You're wearing a bra," he replied sardonically. "A grand opportunity lost."

Following his eyes, Hermione looked down at her chest. Her soaked blouse clung to her leaving little to the imagination.

"A small as I am, you would probably be as disappointed if I wasn't wearing one," Hermione said turning around in search of her wand.

Chuckling, Chris performed a drying charm on himself before turning his attention to his cousin. "The water worked. That was some clever reasoning on your part, Henry. I wonder if the others have discovered the secret yet."

"I don't believe that Cedric has," Henry replied. "He gets agitated whenever someone asks him about it. As for Victor and Fleur, I don't know. I get the feeling that Karkaroff and Madame Maxime might be giving them a bit more help then the rules allow."

"Are you going to tell Cedric?" Hermione asked rejoining the boys now that she had dried herself.

"Are you going to tell Victor?" Chris returned.

"No," she replied shaking her head. "I don't need to. He told me at the Yule Ball that he already knew what the next task was."

Chris tutted. "It seems that you may be right about Karkaroff helping Victor."

"Perhaps," Henry replied. "But Victor is highly intelligent. He may well have discovered the secret on his own. As for telling Cedric, yes, I will. This tournament is far more important to him then it is to me. Anyway, knowing the next task is only part of it. If I interpreted the egg's song correctly, I need a way to stay underwater for an hour. "

Hermione nodded in agreement. "That's what I understood from the song."

"Yeah," Chris said. "You'll be searching for something underwater, in the lake I presume."

"Room, the tub is no longer needed," Henry said. "Thank you."

The tub vanished. Henry dropped the egg onto the settee. Grabbing his shirts, he had walked to the fireplace.

"I going to work under the assumption that I won't be able to use scuba gear or any other muggle apparatus," he said as he dressed.

Hermione smiled. "A solid assumption. It is a magic competition, after all, Henry."

"Something magical then," Chris stated. "Room, we need a magical device that allows a person to breath underwater please."

The three looked around but nothing appeared.

"There must be something, surely," a perplexed Hermione said.

Henry laughed. "Undoubtedly but we asked the wrong question. Room, may we have some books that contain information about magical methods that allow people to breathe underwater please."

Two large stacks of books appeared on the end table.

"I don't understand," Chris admitted.

"The castle has a spirit or a consciousness, if you will," Henry explained heading for the books. "It has hosted several of these tournaments over the centuries and I'm guessing it has a sense of fair play. It won't give us what we need but as with the tub, it will give us the means to discover what we need, if we ask for it."

"A rather fine distinction," Hermione mused.

"Not when you stop to think about it," Henry replied. "It is a school. It is here to nurture learning. Perhaps in its own way, the castle is a teacher."

Chris laughed abruptly. "You know, that just might explain the moving staircases and the like. It may be the castle's way of keeping compliancy from setting in, a way of stimulating awareness of your environment."

"You may be right," Hermione agreed pulling a book from one of the stacks.

The tomes occupied the rest of the trio's afternoon. Each volume contained hundreds of charms and spells but they undauntedly ploughed through them confident that if the room provided the books, then some useful information was to be found somewhere within their covers. The challenge was staying on topic. All three in turn had to pull themselves back on track as they found themselves lingering over unrelated but intriguing spells.

As the sun sat, Gabby the house elf brought them some sandwiches and soup so they stayed at their study through supper.

"Well, that's the last one," Chris said closing the book he was reading. "What's our list look like?"

"Mostly variants of the bubblehead charm," answered Hermione scanning the piece of parchment on which she had written any promising charm. "Gillyweed looks favourable."

"I liked the liquid breathing one," Henry said.

"Yes, it would be the best spell, cuz," replied Chris. "But I think that it is far too complicated for you. It would probably be too complicated for half the teachers here."

"Probably," Henry reluctantly agreed.

"I would use gillyweed, if I were you," said Hermione. "I believe that it would leave you more manoeuvrable underwater. Not only would you have gills temporarily, you'll have webbed hands and feet, also."

"I agree," replied Chris in response to Henry's questioning glance.

"Okay, I'll use gillyweed," Henry said. "But I hope it doesn't taste as disgusting as it looks in the book."

He stood and stretched. "Thanks for your help, you two. I'm going to call it a night."

"Yeah," Chris yawned. "A shower and bed sound good to me, too. Coming, Hermione?"

"In a little while," she answered remaining in her chair. "I am going to read some more."

"Good night, then," Henry said. "I'll see you at breakfast."

He patted her arm briefly and Chris waved before they headed for the door.

"Your coat and gloves, Chris," Hermione called out.

"Thanks," he said retrieving them. "I would have hated to come all the way back for them."

"We can't have that," Hermione said.

Hermione watched the boys leave with a blank expression on her face. As soon as they were gone, she stacked the books neatly on the edge of the table clearing the area before her.

"Room, may I have some reference books on magic pendants?"

It was nearly curfew before she trekked back to the Gryffindor tower. The corridors were dark and cold but Hermione deep in thought hardly noticed.

"Do they know what they have done?" she softly asked the uncaring night.

1 _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ by J. K. Rowling, pg. 463 Scholastic Press, U. S. ed.


	6. Chapter 6

TMP2-6

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

_In which suspicions are aired_

Henry had finished the second task ten minutes earlier yet Professor Karkaroff continued to rant to all and sundry. The Slavic headmaster, with arms flailing wildly, slipped in and out of English as he fumed.

"He is the youngest, the least experienced and yet you expect me to believe he found the girl and returned in only thirty-four minutes without help?" he snapped. "Why are we here? Why do you insult us so, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply. Not for the first time he wondered how Karkaroff managed to secure his position as Durmstrang's headmaster. Just about anyone else would have been easier to deal with but Dumbledore needed him so deal with the former Death Eater he must.

"My dear Professor Karkaroff," he patiently began struggling to keep the irritation from his voice. "There has been no cheating on our part. You have my word that neither I nor anyone on the Hogwarts staff aided Mr Porter in this task. I am as surprised as you that it was young Henry that returned first but it is a testament to his skill not proof of trickery."

"BAH!" Karkaroff spat. "Your word! His skill!"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed dangerously but Madame Maxime spoke before he could say anything that he may have later regretted. "I, too, am amazed but investigation should precede accusation, ce n'est pas?"

Karkaroff rudely snorted.

Like Dumbledore, Madame Maxime's eyes took on a flinty glint "Animal noises are a poor counter argument. When facing a puzzle one with intelligence questions."

She turned her gaze upon Henry. "Monsieur Porter, 'ow did you survive underwater?"

"Gillyweed," he replied looking up at the woman who towered above him.

"And 'ow did you know to use that plant?"

"It was in two different books," Henry responded. "_Magical Plants of the Mediterranean_ and _Survival Magic."_

"Did any of your teachers give you the books or refer you to them?"

"No, ma'am."

"Did they give you the gillyweed?"

"No, ma'am," Henry answered. "I ordered it from an apothecary in Diagon Alley. I still have the receipt."

"Did anyone tell you where the 'ostages were located?"

Henry shook his head. "No, ma'am."

"Merci," she said kindly before returning her attention to her colleagues. "I am satisfied that 'e speaks the truth."

"The boy lies," Karkaroff shouted.

"What you are saying is that I lie or do you think that I am that poor a legilimens?" the French woman asked coldly.

"If you believe the boy then you're a fool," he retorted.

"Tu imbecile emacie!" Madame Maxime snarled striding toward Karkaroff snatching her wand from her pocket.

"Please, everyone," Dumbledore pleaded stepping between them. "Remember where we are. Let us not argue like six-year olds in front of our students."

The Beauxbatons Headmistress stopped her charge but continued to stare daggers at her eastern colleague who stood his ground but who had prudently drawn his own wand.

Once Dumbledore was satisfied that a murder was not to take place, he turned to attention back to Professor Karkaroff.

"Tell me," he said. "How can I convince you that we have competed fairly?"

"You cannot," he growled.

"Surely, there must…" Dumbledore began.

"Excuse me, Headmaster," Henry interrupted as he rubbed his temples. Gillyweed had proved effective at allowing him to breathe underwater but it left in its wake a massive headache, something that neither text deemed worthy of mention. All Henry wanted was to lie down in some dark, warm, quiet place for a few hours. Karkaroff bellowing in his whiny voice was something that he did not need. "Professor Karkaroff, if you think that I have cheated then award me no points. Maybe you can convince Mr Crouch that I should be disqualified."

Professor Karkaroff stared haughtily at the youth. "I'll do just that. You shouldn't be in the tournament anyway."

"I could not agree more, sir."

"I'm not speaking in jest, boy," Karkaroff snapped angered at Henry's nonchalant tone.

"Neither am I, Professor," Henry evenly answered. "Get it through your head; as far as I am concerned the Triwizards Tournament isn't worth a tinker's dam."

"You heard him, Crouch," Karkaroff replied venomously spinning on his heel. "Forget your worthless magical contract. Disqualify him."

"I see you left your brains as well as your integrity in Azkaban, Karkaroff," Bartemius Crouch sneered.

Henry walked away. It was readily apparent that everyone's opinion was set in stone. The words would continue to fly but no one would change his mind. It would be a waste of energy to try.

He willed a small smile to stay on his lips as he waded through a sea of backslaps and handshakes as he made his way toward Maggie who was waiting before the changing tent. Fear of Henry being a parselmouth momentarily vanished in the excitement of his astonishing performance of the second task. More then one student was beginning to speculate on and approve of what had seemed unthinkable just hours earlier; that the muggleborn Henry Porter, the youngest champion, the unexpected champion, the least trained, least educated, smallest champion, might win the tournament.

Maggie felt his discomfort as she drew him into a hug. "You'll be able to leave soon." She whispered encouragingly in his ear.

Henry kissed her forehead. "It can't be soon enough," he replied.

"You truly hate being the centre of attention, don't you?" she asked.

He shrugged. Maggie was correct. He never understood the 'look at me' kids. They were like anaerobic beings that thrived in an environment entirely removed from the one that he inhabited. He knew that his ego was strong and he liked praise as much as anyone else did but he sought the approval of those closest to him. What was a ton of applause from people who barely knew him compared to an ounce of appreciation from his nearest and dearest?

Henry winced as a loud roar exploded from the congregated students. Cedric Diggory with his bubblehead charm still in place emerged from the lake with the inert form of Cho Chang in his arms. Professor Flitwick scampered across the stony beach to where Cedric was struggling to the shore. He quickly performed a drying charm on the pair as two older students took possession of the entranced Ravenclaw girl. Placing her on a litter, they followed on the heels of the professor and Cedric to the changing tent.

Disappointment ghosted across Cedric's face when he spotted Henry and Maggie. Looking down, he fumbled for his wand. By the time he reached the tent, both the bubblehead and the visible signs of frustration were gone. He stepped aside, allowing the rest of his group to go into the tent.

"Be a good fellow, Henry and tell me that I am at least second," he said through chattering teeth.

"Neither Viktor or Fleur have made it back yet," Henry told him.

"Good," Cedric said happily. "I should stay close enough to catch you yet."

Henry grinned. "You may find yourself in the lead. Professor Karkaroff thinks that I cheated so he is trying to get me disqualified."

Cedric grunted, glancing over at the still agitated Durmstrang headmaster. "Why would you cheat in a competition that you don't even want to be in?"

Henry tossed up his hands. "A point of logic that has not yet occurred to him. Anyway, you best get inside the tent and into some warm clothes before you catch pneumonia."

"Yeah, it is a bit nippy now that you mention it," a blue-lipped Cedric replied. He opened the tent flap before stopping. "Oh, by the way, Henry, congratulations but of course, I am still going to win."

"But of course," Henry chuckled.

Cedric winked before withdrawing into the tent.

"Professor Karkaroff needs some of Cedric's sportsmanship to rub off on him," Maggie said. "I'll wager that Viktor will take your finish far better then his headmaster has."

"No doubt," Henry replied. "Maggie, I'm sorry but I am going to have to go back to the dorm and lie down. My head feels like its going to split open."

"It's not like Quirrell again, is it?" she asked in a concerned whisper looking around for any malevolent stares.

"No," he reassured her. "It hurts all over like I've heard people describe a hangover or a migraine. I don't think that the gills provided enough oxygen for my body."

"Okay," she said. "Do you want some company?"

"It would be a great chance to link," he said scanning the bleachers that teemed with the entire student body. "But I just want to lie down in the dark until this thing goes away."

"A lost opportunity but I understand," she lightly replied. "Go lie down. I see you soon."

Henry gave her a quick peck on the cheek before skirting around to the back of the tent. His departure went unnoticed as a hysterical Fleur Delacour stumbling from the lake captured everyone's attention.

Hermione inhaled loudly as if she had been startled. Perplexed, her eyes darted about the tent before they stopped on a smiling Maggie.

"Welcome back, Hermione," she said swatting a water beetle from her friend's bushy hair.

"How do you feel, Miss Granger?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"I…I feel confused," Hermione replied struggling to sit up. "Disoriented."

The healer nodded. "Lie back for a bit, dear while I give you a quick examination. The disorientation is a side effect of the stasis charm. You'll be fine in a few moments."

Hermione frowned as she quit her efforts to rise. "Is that Professor Karkaroff? What's he going on about?"

Maggie eyed the shadows on the tent wall with a mixture of distain and exasperation. Outside Karkaroff was not bothering to keep his voice down as he interrogated Viktor. She could not understand the words that they were speaking but the tone was unmistakable.

"He's questioning Viktor," Maggie explained. "He's convinced that Henry cheated."

"Oh, you're here," Hermione said. "That means Henry is back already. He beat Viktor back."

Maggie laughed softly. "You are disoriented, aren't you?"

"But otherwise in good health," Madame Pomfrey said. "Stasis charms are tricky. We healers generally use them for only the direst of emergencies. Just another aspect of this tournament that I do not like."

"I'm sorry, miss," Hermione said contritely.

The healer patted her arm gently. "For what are you apologising, dear? It was not your scatterbrained notion to revive something that was best left in the pages of history. Excuse me now while I go rescue Mr Krum from the clutches of his headmaster. Athlete or no, I need to examine him."

Maggie spied the beetle fly through the open tent flap following Madame Pomfrey outside. The healer cut off Karkaroff's questions by the simple method of stepping between him and his student.

Hermione sat up and swung herself off the gurney. She wobbled slightly but stayed upright.

"That was more graceful then I was. I nearly fell on my face," Maggie laughed. "Here's your hat, coat, and gloves. Your gumboots are by your feet."

"Thank you," Hermione said retrieving her outerwear. "It is cold."

"Are you okay?" Maggie asked as Hermione hurriedly pulled on her gear.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "It was just… well; you went through it just a few minutes ago."

"It was a while ago, actually," Maggie said coming around to her friend's side.

Hermione heard the pride in Maggie's voice. Henry had to have been the first to return. "Was Viktor that slow in retrieving me?" she asked sliding her feet into her boots.

Maggie waggled her hand. "He was the last one back to the shore although Fleur failed to rescue her sister. She was in an absolute panic before Madame Maxime convinced her that the egg's song not withstanding, her sister was in no danger. The merfolk brought her back a few minutes ago."

Hermione looked at the tent flap but made no move to leave. Instead, she stared at the departing shadows of Viktor, Karkaroff, and Madame Pomfrey through half-closed eyes. Maggie had known her long enough to know that she was lost in thought.

"Why does Professor Karkaroff think that Henry cheated?" Hermione finally asked. "Come to that, where is Henry?"

"Henry went back to our dorm to lie down. Apparently a severe headache is a by-product of using gillyweed," Maggie replied.

"The books did not say anything about that," Hermione protested feeling betrayed.

"Anyway, Professor Karkaroff believes that Henry cheated since he was the first one to complete the task," Maggie continued.

"There is more to it then that surely," Hermione reasoned. "He's in a state."

"It was the speed in which Henry completed the task in that got him in high dudgeon," said Maggie. "What bothers Professor Karkaroff is that Henry is the youngest champion yet he was back with me in tow in thirty-four minutes, twenty-seven minutes ahead of Cedric who was next. He's convinced that Professor Dumbledore or one of the teachers told Henry where we could be found in the lake."

Hermione nodded keeping her eyes on the tent wall. "But Henry doesn't need anyone to tell him where you're at, does he?" she asked quietly.

Maggie blanched. "We are rarely apart anymore," she replied carefully.

Hermione turned to face her tiny friend. Maggie was wearing a winter coat but she had undone the top buttons in the relative warmth of the tent. Slowly Hermione ran a gloved finger along the silver chain around Maggie's neck then down her dress front stopping over the slight bulge that the hidden pendant made there. She tapped it delicately.

"He retrieved you so quickly because he could feel precisely where you were."

Maggie's normally expressive face went blank as the girls locked eyes. Like two wildcats that accidentally encountered one another on a mountain trail, they froze waiting for the other to make a move.

"What's your game, Hermione?" Maggie asked frostily.

"What's yours?" Hermione hissed. "Do you have any bloody idea what you have done?"

"Yes, I do," Maggie countered. "Far better then you, undoubtedly."

"I read about these things, Maggie," replied Hermione. "What you have done is inexcusable."

"I know that I have done more then read a passage or two on the subject," Maggie shot back vehemently although her voice carried no further then Hermione's ears.

"Okay, you're the expert," Hermione replied sharply. "Tell me why you did it."

Hermione was convinced that Maggie would storm out of the tent without saying anything but she stayed. Hermione could almost see the gears working as her friend thought the matter over. The raven-haired girl craned her neck. Outside, the assembly was breaking up. The bleachers reverberated as hundreds of feet pounded down the steps. The excited babble of their fellow students filled the air.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Maggie sombrely said grabbing Hermione's hand. "There are too many ears around."

The girls exited the tent. They quickly blended in with the throng as it made its way like a giant centipede from the lakeshore towards Hogwarts Castle. More then one student wanted to question Hermione and Maggie about what occurred but they lost interest when they discovered that neither had anything interesting to say since both were entranced well before the task began.

As the approached the main entrance, Maggie veered across the lawn breaking a trail through the thick snow. Hermione followed her. Together they struggled onward in silence until they were in the middle of the grounds far away from anyone else.

"Well?" Hermione finally asked politely her own earlier temper abated.

"How long have you known?" Maggie asked.

"Since last month," Hermione answered. "That weekend that you spent in Edinburgh, I saw Henry's pendant when he took his shirt off prior to dunking his head into the tub."

"Careless of him," Maggie blandly said stopping before a wooden bench.

"Henry's not the type to wear jewellery so I knew that it had to be magic of some sort," Hermione continued. "Since he never mentioned the pendant, I did not ask him about it, Instead, I got some books on the subject."

"How very like you," Maggie said sardonically.

"We are what we are," replied Hermione. "I found very few references to them and only one picture."

"It's difficult to find much information about magic from the Persian Empire," Maggie said.

"It would be more correct to say the Achaemenid Empire, in this instance," responded Hermione.

"So few of us have your elegant preciseness when it comes to such labels," her friend said.

"That's a polite way of saying that I am as pedantic as Professor Binns," replied Hermione ironically. "But we are straying from the subject."

"Back to it then," Maggie said resignedly. "Do you masturbate, Hermione?"

"WHAT?"

"Do you finger yourself?" she asked. "Do you do the kit kat shuffle?"

"I know what it means," Hermione replied in exasperation. "What kind of question is that? What does it have to do with what we're talking about?"

Maggie sat down on the bench. Hermione joined her and waited patiently as Maggie's eyes slowly wandered over the snow-covered peaks that surrounded the castle.

"Winter is cold and barren," she finally said. "Everything gets locked in ice."

"Spring will soon be here," Hermione replied.

"When will my spring get here?" asked Maggie.

Hermione shook her head. "What's with the metaphors and allusions, Maggie?"

"The seasonal metaphors are apt, Hermione," she replied. "And the question about masturbation was not meant to be insulting but it is part of my explanation. You haven't slept with Victor, have you? You would have told me if you had, I'm sure."

"No, I haven't. I'm still a virgin."

"But you have kissed him a few times," Maggie said. "Maybe even made out with hands roaming a bit."

Hermione blushed. "A bit," she admitted. "Some of the girls in my dorm have accused me of being frigid for not sleeping with a guy that half the females in school would hop into bed with in a heartbeat but I'm just not comfortable with the idea of doing anything more then kissing right now."

"But you have the normal physical reactions, correct?" asked Maggie.

"Which you don't," Hermione guessed.

Maggie looked down at her boots. "None of the ones that are a prelude to having sex. I don't get wet or…"

"Please, Maggie, I know what happens," Hermione quickly interrupted. "Let's not get any more graphic then we already have."

Maggie laughed for the first time since leaving the tent. "Prude."

"I'm not a prude," Hermione protested.

Smiling, Maggie squeezed her hand. "You are, Hermione or shall we say prudent. You and Henry could be brother and sister. You both have the same old-fashioned morality."

"Henry hasn't tried anything then?" Hermione asked.

"No, he hasn't" Maggie replied. "Even if I had a normal body, it is unlikely that events would go beyond what they have so far which physically has been limited to kissing. I would not be surprised if the two of us don't lose our virginity until we consummate our marriage."

Hermione frowned. "If that's the way it is then why the pendants?"

Maggie bent over and scooped a handful of snow. With seemingly single-minded concentration, she meticulously patted it into a near perfect sphere before heaving it in an awkward throwing motion that many girls have.

"I panicked," she said at last. "I felt that something was wrong with when all of the girls my age were suddenly talking about nothing but boys and I could not understand what they meant but to have it so unequivocally confirmed by Doctor Murray was shattering. It was like a death knell echoing through the mountains."

"You're going to be fine," Hermione replied encouragingly. "It's just going to take some time is all."

"So far there have been no changes in me other then the hormones throwing a spanner into my emotional works," Maggie said. "I sometimes tease Henry with some sexual innuendo trying to force something out of me but I really don't feel anything like that still."

"You knew from the onset that the process was measured in years not months," Hermione said. "Besides, I know you understood what we were talking about when the subject got around to boys. I'm certain that you know more about sex then I do."

Maggie smiled weakly. "Oh, I know the mechanics. Growing up in a castle full of teenagers, I saw a great deal and heard far more over the years but I don't have sexual desire. I literally do not yet have the ability to have it. Like Doctor Murray said, I'm nine years-old still in body."

"But I've heard you tell Henry time and time again that you love him," Hermione argued. "I refuse to believe that you're lying to him."

"Hermione, you can wager your life and soul that I love Henry," Maggie replied fervently. "I WILL marry him someday and I will have his children."

"A rather strange statement for a nine year-old," Hermione mused.

"I may not be able to lust but I can love," Maggie snapped.

"Are you certain that it isn't a child's possessiveness toward her favourite dolly?" Hermione asked calmly.

Maggie's anger blazed contorting her face into a demonic mask but Hermione coolly stared back at her even as the tiny girl drew back her hand to slap her. The blow never fell. With a visible struggle, Maggie squelched her rage. Her nostrils flared one final time as she lowered her hand.

"Whatever my physical shortcomings are," Maggie icily said spacing her words with mathematical exactness. "I can still dream about a future that I want; a future that has Henry with me forever."

"And you thought the only way to do that is to enslave him by magic?" Hermione asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

"Yes," Maggie said raising a hand quickly to stop Hermione's retort. "That is what I was thinking when I bought the pendants but not what I was thinking when Henry and I performed the binding ritual. By the time we got to that point I realised that it was unnecessary."

"Then why go through with it?" Hermione asked unconvinced.

"Answer me truthfully, Hermione." Maggie said earnestly. "Most of what you remember about what you read of the pendants is what happens when the bound pair makes love, isn't it?"

Hermione coloured. "Well, what can happen," she replied.

Maggie smiled. "It is an interesting phenomenon but since we aren't having sex that is something for another day. Right now, what the pendants do is allow Henry and me to share ourselves, our minds with each other. It isn't physical. It's mental and maybe even spiritual but I cannot tell you the depths of intimacy that we have achieved in the last few months. That's what I wanted. That's what I was after when I performed the ritual."

Hermione narrowed her eyes in thought. "Just how intimate are we discussing here?"

"In some ways frighteningly so," Maggie replied. "Until we bonded, I had not realised how many walls we hide behind. How little of ourselves that we truly share with others. When we link, Henry sees me laid bare in a manner that far outdistances mere nudity. All of me is there for him, even the dark corners of my mind that I am ashamed to acknowledge."

"That does sound frightening," Hermione said.

"It does but it is actually liberating," her friend intently replied. "Henry is beyond a doubt a good person yet I can see the same darkness lurking on the frontiers of his psyche also. When you can acknowledge and accept all of the aspects of your self, you begin to grow; you begin to become truly human."

Hermione stared at her earnest companion as she thought over what she had said. Hermione did not have a strictly material worldview but she was far more at ease with tangible proofs and tactile evidence. It hampered her in when it came to certain facets of her study of Ars Magica as her disastrous foray into Divination the previous year aptly demonstrated. Maggie and her pendants were venturing into what was to Hermione a disturbingly esoteric realm.

"It is still a high price to pay for self-awareness," she finally said.

Maggie shook her head in frustration. "Hermione, the pendants are not a Faustian bargain. I have not bartered my soul for a trinket. I have freed myself."

"That you will have to explain," Hermione replied.

"Okay then, another truthful answer from you if you will," Maggie said. "You've always thought of me as gushy, flighty, and not terribly bright, haven't you?"

Embarrassment crept over Hermione's features. "I still liked you."

"I know," Maggie acknowledged. "But how do you view me now?"

Hermione paused. She had not reflected upon it but Maggie had changed a lot this year. Maggie's work in the Ancient Runes and Arthimancy classes that they had together was almost on a par with her own. Her personality had also undergone a transformation. While Maggie was still very short with a slender frame that was devoid of the slightest feminine curve but she no longer gave the impression of being a child. Hermione could not remember the last time that Maggie had described anything as super, which was her catchall adjective not too long ago.

"Are you saying that the pendants are making you smarter and more mature?"

"Yes and no," Maggie replied ambiguously. "The maturity is something I've be working very hard on myself. I've been crushing any childish impulse mercilessly."

"What happened to accepting yourself?" Hermione asked incongruously.

Maggie laughed loudly. "Accepting yourself does not mean that you have to stop striving to improve yourself."

"Clever answer," Hermione replied.

"Yes, it was," Maggie responded without any false modesty. "An incidental result of the bond is that it has allowed me to get smarter."

"How?" Hermione asked burning with curiosity.

"Okay, understand this is guesswork on my part," Maggie replied "But I remember that several years ago Madame Pomfrey was explaining to Barbara about how sometimes when someone has a head injury and part of the brain is damaged, the brain will actually form new connections; it rewires itself to follow different pathways that allows it to keep performing needed functions."

"Yes, I've read that also," said Hermione. "People with dyslexia have to do something similar to be able to read."

"When Henry and I started linking minds, I surmise that my brain had new pathways opened for it," Maggie continued to explain. "Henry described it as barriers being removed in his mind. For me, I'm learning more because I can visualise the concepts that our professors teach us more readily. Mum has been very pleased with my progress in her class this year."

Maggie caught the speculative look on her friend's face. "You're trying to figure out a way to do the same thing without the pendants, aren't you?" she asked with a laugh.

"Guilty as charged," confessed Hermione laughing along with her.

"I never asked Mum about it but I think that it is probable that being an animagus will do something similiar for you," Maggie said. "I don't see how it couldn't. You'll be viewing the world with completely different senses."

Hermione arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Yes, I never thought about it but I think that you are likely correct."

"How close are you?" asked Maggie.

"Very close," answered Hermione. "In the next session or two I'll make the attempt. I just wish I had some control over what I become. What's the use of going through all of this just to become a snail or ant?"

"Three guesses what Henry wants to become," said Maggie.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione laughed. "A horse, maybe?"

"Right in one," Maggie replied. "But getting back to the pendants; since I could not have a normal relationship with Henry I used them to chart a different way to connect with him. Believe me I would never harm him. I love him and it is not the possessiveness of a little girl toward her favourite doll."

Hermione nodded. She remained uncertain as to the wisdom of the binding. Henry was probably not aware of the full ramifications of the ritual when he took part in it but he trusted Maggie. Hermione admitted to herself that, for someone she had not considered overly intelligent, Maggie seemed to have done a fair amount of research into the pendants but the most basic fact was that both of them were only fourteen years old. Maggie had locked the two of them together in a far more compulsory fashion then any ritual of church or state. No bishop could annul it. No judge could end it and considering the number of ghosts in the castle, Hermione was not confident that even the death could sever the link.

Hermione sighed deeply. "Maggie, I truly hope that it works for you and Henry because I would hate to see two people that I love so unhappy in the future because of one mistake."

Maggie scooted closer to the older girl and took her hands into her own. "You still see the bond in terms of chains; as if Henry and I are manacled together like prisoners. In truth, I tell you that it is the furthest thing from it. As I told Henry on the day that we performed the ritual the pendants are wings. The two of us are soaring through skies that most people cannot even raise their eyes to see. What is frustrating to Henry and me is how little opportunity we get to link."

Hermione looked deep into the soulful blue eyes of the other girl. Only sincerity sparkled in them, sincerity and a plea to be believed.

"I have managed to go from being angry with you to worried about you to envious of you in a matter of minutes," Hermione surrendered with a rueful shake of her head.

Maggie beatifically smiled. She had not realised how important to her Hermione's favourable opinion on the matter was until then. "Someday, when you find your true love, I hope you have the good fortune to find a set of these pendants and the courage to use them."

"Oh, you don't think that Viktor's the one?" Hermione asked lightly smiling back at her friend.

"No, not any more then you do," Maggie replied. "He's a great guy. He's just not the guy for you."

"No, I suppose not," Hermione admitted. "It will be like Chris summed it up when Ginny broke it off with him. It was fun now it's over."

Maggie stood and stamped her cold feet. "I don't know what Ginny is looking for in a boyfriend but she'll be hard-pressed to find someone better then Chris in this girl's estimation."

"Yes, I agree," Hermione replied. She stood shooting warming charms at her and Maggie's feet.

"Thank you. So, what's the verdict, Hermione? Is the air clear between us?" Maggie said wanting to hear the words.

"I'm still not completely comfortable with it but it's mostly because I'm not comfortable with irreversible steps," Hermione replied. "I'll continue to keep your secret."

"Thank you," Maggie gratefully said. "There is nothing anyone can do about it but knowing adults that won't stop them from trying and I don't and Henry really doesn't need that aggravation."

Maggie paused before continuing diffidently. "Hermione, I'm sorry about nearly hitting you. As I have said, the hormones are playing havoc with my emotions. Sometimes my control is not what it should be."

"Its okay, Maggie, honestly," Hermione answered. "I'll admit that it was a deliberately provocative question."

Maggie tugged her into a tight hug. "You've been a true friend to me, Hermione. I shouldn't keep secrets from you."

Hermione returned the hug with heartfelt joy. The last traces of both girls' anger evaporated.

"You're the best friend that I ever had, Maggie," she replied. "I haven't felt a moment of loneliness since I met you, Henry, and Chris."

The girls clung to each other for a few moments before breaking apart.

"Ready to go inside?" asked Maggie

Hermione looked over the snow covered grounds unbroken and pristine save for the trail that they had made getting to the bench.

"If you don't think that it is beneath your new-found maturity, what I'd really like to do is make a snowman," she said.

"I hope that I never get too mature for fun," Maggie laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: See previous chapter

Chapter 7

_In which four new animagi appear_

Beyond Professor McGonagall's parlour window, it was a cold March evening but within her apartment, the gaily-crackling fire in her circulating oven sent waves of warmth to wash over all and sundry. A bemused smile danced on Minerva's lips as she watched Albus Dumbledore idly swirl whiskey in a crystal shot glass. He was sitting within reach of her but his mind was certainly far, far away. His cares were many these days but decades of loving him gave her certain perspicacity when it came to his moods. She did not sense worry or nervousness but neither did he look particularly happy. Oddly, he seemed expectant as if he knew something was going to appear on the horizon but was unsure as to what it would be. Minerva got the impression; however, that tonight's session was not about what he was thinking.

"It is not necessary for you to be here if you have something else that needs tending to, Albus," she said.

The Headmaster grunted snapping out of his reverie. "No, no," he said. "I want to be here. This enterprise has so much promise for the future. We were most fortunate that Henry and his three choices all proved to have the innate ability required. I hesitate to use the word fate but we were at the very least extremely lucky."

"Much depends on what forms they assume," Professor McGonagall said. "That is something that cannot be predicted."

Dumbledore downed his drink and smiled. "Almost any form can be put to good use I believe. The mission undertaken will dictate whether it is useful or not. Your cat has proven effective where an elephant would be conspicuous."

Minerva's jaw tightened. "Even if the children succeed tonight which I am confident they will, you won't be able to use them as agents tomorrow."

Albus sat his glass down on the end table.

"I got ahead of myself there," he replied. "Whether or not they join the Order will be a choice that will be theirs to make in the future. We are, at the moment, merely teaching them certain skills."

"That is sophistry," she retorted. "They know of the Order and you know that once that have the skills, they will want to use them."

"It can be argued that I am manipulating them to some degree but the final choice will remain theirs," he said. "And that choice I will respect. I'll talk to them tonight, if you wish."

Albus sensed that Minerva remained unconvinced. He sighed deeply. He struggled at times over the last three years to keep his word to her that he would deal with Henry Porter openly but he had yet to go back on his promise.

A contrite Minerva watched the interplay of emotions that flittered across the face of her beloved. He was wrestling with so many problems. He did not need her adding to his burdens. He needed her support.

"You _are_ in a strange mood tonight," she said. "What is the cause? It's more then the animagi, I sure."

He started to reply then paused. After a few moments, he began again. "I received a letter today," the old man said tentatively. "Just a few hours ago."

"You receive several, even dozens a day," Minerva said. "What was so different about this one?"

"It was from a young man named Erik Tonsberg," he replied.

"A Norwegian?"

"Partially of Norwegian descent," Dumbledore answered. "But he's from Australia. He is my great-great grandson through my eldest daughter Desiree."

Minerva arched her eyebrows in surprise.

"That's rather amazing," she said slowly. "None of your descendants have bothered to contact you before. For that matter, I wasn't even sure that you had descendants beyond your girls."

"I didn't either. I think that my wife…never mind. That is past," he replied. "Erik is in a master's programme at the University of London."

"Is he a squib?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, according to his letter, he graduated from the Great Victorian Desert Magic School but he has chosen to enter the muggle professional world. In furtherance of that end he read economics at the University of New South Wales and now is here in Britain for graduate work."

Minerva nodded taking in what the headmaster said. "You don't seem particularly pleased with hearing from this young man."

Once again, it was several long moments before he spoke.

"There are days that I despise what I have become, Minerva," he replied. "I should be overjoyed to finally have one of my kindred re-entering my life but all I have are suspicions. Is he who he claims to be? What are his motives? Why did he appear now? I will meet the lad with one hand extended and the other clutching my wand."

"You need to be more forgiving of yourself, Albus," Minerva said. "Some paranoia has to be expected after the life that you have led. It undoubtedly is part of what has kept you alive. Besides, it is said that a pessimist has naught but pleasant surprises."

"I would give a great deal to be pleasantly surprised with Erik," Albus replied with feeling. "Not making an effort to be a part of my daughters' lives was the greatest mistake I ever made, a mistake which I can never atone for."

"Until death there is always hope," Minerva said. "You can still reach out to them."

Albus lowered his head, his eyes misting up. Minerva groaned inaudibly. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder knowing the situation even before he spoke.

"According to Erik, Desiree and her son drowned in a shipwreck nearly seventy years ago," he slowly told her. "I have written to the New Zealand Ministry for Magic searching confirmation but…I feel that it is true."

"And Portia?"

"She died just three years ago," Albus replied. "She raised Diana's granddaughter, Erik's mother, after the accident. She had no children of her own."

Despite his sombreness, a wry amusement crept into the quiet of his mind as he watched her mull over what he had said. If she knew him, then he knew her as well.

"To answer the one question you won't ask," he said. "Erik wrote that she died forty-three years ago,"

"Not to sound uncaring, Albus, but what difference does that make?" Minerva asked.

The headmaster opened his mouth to speak but whatever his comment was to be, it died aborning. He dropped his eyes to the empty glass on the table beside him. Feeling the need to move, he carried the glass to Minerva's sideboard. He wanted another whiskey but the students would arrive soon. It would not do to have them think that he was a closet sop.

"Does the confirmation that I'm a widower make a difference?" he thought peering out of the window. Clouds hid the moon and stars keeping the grounds blanketed in darkness. Fresh snow was softly falling from the black night sky. An occasional flake would gleam in the light that escaped the window as it drifted by the panes.

"While you're there, pull the drapery close, please," Minerva asked.

He complied like an automaton, his mind still far away.

Several loud knocks smashed Professor Dumbledore's stupor shoving him back into the present.

"That would be Ron Weasley," Professor McGonagall said. "He has been so eager for this night to come I have thought it likely that he would burst."

"Is he ready?" the headmaster asked. "Are they all ready?"

"I told you that they were, Albus," she countered, heading for the door. "Would I allow them to make the attempt if I was not certain that they would succeed?"

Ron was standing in the passageway. He was so fidgety that he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. He started to rush in as soon as the door opened but Professor McGonagall did not move aside. Instead, she arched her neck taking long exaggerated looks in several directions.

"What is it, Professor?" a perplexed Ron asked looking around as well.

"I was wondering where you hid the battering ram," she replied with a straight face.

The lanky red haired boy sheepishly grinned. "Yeah...ah…sorry about that, Professor," he said as his fellow Gryffindors came walking up. "I guess I am just, you know, keen."

"Good evening, Professor," Hermione said bobbing her head.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," Chris said. "I would have been here sooner but I was flattened by this red blur as I was leaving the dormitory."

"Good evening, Miss Granger, Mr Gallatin," Professor McGonagall said, stepping aside. "Come in, the three of you and please be sitting. I suppose that it is too much to hope for that any of you spotted two wandering Hufflepuffs."

"No, miss," Hermione answered.

"Two?" Ron asked entering the McGonagall apartment.

"C'mon, Ron," Chris laughed following Hermione inside. "You didn't think that Maggie would miss this night, did you?"

Ron sniggered. "To be sure Mrs Porter will be here."

He grimaced immediately. "Someone please tell me I didn't say that aloud."

"Not only aloud, Ronikins but also quite clearly," Hermione said slyly. "With such a rich, vibrant voice, you should consider a career with the WWN. You would make a fine presenter or newsreader. Don't you agree, Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes, Miss Granger, I do," she jestingly replied in mock severity. "The chief benefit of such a career would be that he would have a script before him to work from instead of having to think of what to say."

"A benefit, to be sure," Hermione responded continuing to tease her friend as she sat on one of the settees. "Good evening, Headmaster."

"Miss Granger," he replied with a nod. "Mr Gallatin."

"Headmaster," Chris answered formally before sitting down beside Hermione.

"And good evening, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore brightly said throwing the lad a lifeline.

Ron seized it gratefully. "Hello, Headmaster. How are you tonight?"

"Tolerable for an old man," Professor Dumbledore replied easing his body down onto an overstuffed chair.

Two firm knocks sounded on the door.

"That would be the Porters, wouldn't you think, Ron?" Chris asked smoothly.

"Bite me, city boy," Ron replied without any heat.

Professor McGonagall escorted her daughter and Henry, and to everyone's surprise, Professor Moody into the parlour.

"I could not stay away on this night," Professor Moody explained.

"I understand," Professor McGonagall said feeling her own excitement grow. "You know where the sideboard is."

"Ah, what a wonderful hostess," he replied heading for her liquor. "Do you want one, Albus?"

Maggie was excited as her mother but was less adapt at hiding it. Like Ron, she was practically bouncing as she sat beside her boyfriend on a sofa. Hermione and Chris both noted that Henry, in contrast, appeared if not nervous then tense. He, of the four of them, had the most difficulty mastering the prerequisite techniques and even though Professor McGonagall assured each of them in their last session that they were ready for the transformation, Henry was apparently not as confident.

After everyone but the restless Ron had taken a seat, Professor McGonagall stepped into the centre of the room. She glanced at the headmaster. He nodded in response.

"I have a tendency to see you as children," she began. "It is likely a hazard of my age but in truth you are young men and women. As adults, we make choices and must live with the consequences. You cannot help but see being an animagus as an adventure. I still do even after all the years I have been one. Yet being animagi will have a price. Being an unregistered animagus is a criminal offence. You can lose many of your rights and privileges as a wizarding citizen if discovered. In the present social climate, you muggleborn students are even more at risk."

Professor Dumbledore spoke up from his chair. "More importantly, if you choose sometime in the future to use your newly acquired talent in the struggle against Voldemort, you will find yourself at the forefront. Many have fallen in the past. There are no guarantees that you will not join them in an early death. To be frank, becoming animagi and joining our cause rather increases the odds of that happening. Take a few moments and think about that."

Ron did not mull the matter over. He stepped forward almost as soon as Dumbledore finished speaking.

"Headmaster, I know that I only turned fifteen on Monday and I am well aware that I am thicker then a plank," he said in a quiet, firm voice. "But you know how many relatives I have lost to the Death Eaters. I can stand here and recite their names and where they fell and the curses that brought them down. I am well aware of the odds but I still plan to join the Order of the Phoenix. I'd like to see an end to the Death Eaters and as far as I can see, being an animagus can only help. I don't want to have a niece or nephew of mine standing here in a few years facing the same choices."

"Not a son or daughter?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Not likely," Ron replied. "But what the hell? A sixth son is expendable."

"No one is without worth, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore replied forcefully. "And I will tell you now that I will not allow someone with a death wish into the Order."

"I'm not suicidal, Professor," Ron replied. "But like I said, I know the odds."

"Yes, you probably do. Probably more so then most of your fellow students," the Headmaster replied desolately. "Miss Granger? Mr Gallatin?"

Chris shrugged. "As Ron said, it comes down to family. I won't let Henry go it alone. "

Hermione nodded vigorously. "I once read that most soldiers say that they end up fighting not for King and Country but for their comrades next to them. My comrades are here in this room. Ron and Chris are my friends and Henry has become as a brother to me."

A look of concern grew on Henry's face as Chris and Hermione spoke.

"I know that you love me, Hermione," Henry fretfully said. "But that is not sufficient reason to place yourself in harm's way."

Bushy brown hair rolled like barley before a breeze as Hermione shook her head. "Henry, love is the only sensible reason to place your life in jeopardy."

Professor Dumbledore sensed Henry's fear. He grasped that it had not occurred to the boy that others would follow him personally. Henry caught a glimpse of a future where others might be in danger or die because of their belief in him, something with which Albus was all too familiar.

"Mr Porter, concentrate on tonight's task," Professor Dumbledore said kindly. "Tomorrow, come by my office after breakfast and we will talk."

Henry's sudden dread was reluctant to give up its place in his mind but with a concerted effort, he slowly penned in up. As the headmaster said, he had a task that needed his attention tonight. Tomorrow's problems were not yet here. As the fear subsided, Henry noticed Ron staring at the assemblage.

"Is something going on that I don't know about?" Ron asked of no one in particular. "It sounds as if everyone thinks that Henry is going to fight Voldemort face-to-face."

Henry sighed. He hated the secrets. He hated the need for them.

"I trust Ron, Headmaster," he said. "I have faith in his loyalty and his discretion."

Professors Moody and McGonagall looked at the headmaster. The three of them silently communicated for several heartbeats before coming to a mutual decision.

"You may tell him, Henry," Professor Dumbledore said.

Ron glanced over to Henry more in puzzlement then anticipation.

"As you know, Ron, I was adopted as a very small child," Henry told him. "My name at birth was Harry Potter."

Jaw dropping was only an expression that Henry had heard of until an astonished Ron physically demonstrated it for him.

"You're _the Boy who Lived_?" Ron stammered.

"Yes," Henry replied simply.

"Sod me," he mumbled grappling with the concept that a legend materialized before his very eyes

"Let's keep our friendship where it is at, if you don't mind," Henry replied dryly.

It took a moment for a Ron to get his friend's jest. He grinned and shook his head. "Damn, you're Harry Potter."

"No, Ron," Henry said. "I was born Harry Potter but I am Henry Porter. It is not a matter of semantics. That is who I am."

"Okay, yeah, I understand," Ron replied rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, no, actually I don't but if that's the way you want it, that's the way it'll be. It's just that…damn, you're Harry Potter. Who else knows?"

"In addition to those of us in this room, Henry's parents although I doubt if they understand the significance of who he is," Chris answered. "Plus, Hagrid, Luna, and Barbara Thane."

"Luna knows?" Ron asked. "She never even gave me a hint."

"She can keep a secret," Hermione said with decided emphasis.

"Yeah, yeah, I get you, girl," Ron replied.

"Voldemort also knows," Henry added. "And we can presume his inner circle also such as it may be."

"Voldemort, eh? Did him knowing have anything to do with Professor Quirrell trying to kill you?" asked Ron curiously.

More then one pair of eyes blinked at Ron's unexpected acumen. He was not a stupid as he claimed to be.

"Yes," Henry answered. "Quirrell was a Death Eater and was hosting Voldemort's spirit in his body. We also think that an agent of Voldemort's used a confundus charm on the Goblet of Fire to enter me in the Triwizard's Tournament in hopes that I will be killed before I can face Voldemort."

"Why?" Ron asked. "Never mind. Stupid question. He nearly died the last time he attacked you. I doubt that he'd shed too many tears if you died in the tournament."

"We may be making a mistake in thinking that the purpose behind entering Henry into the tournament is to kill him," Chris said.

He shrugged as every face in the room turned to him. "Well, that's what I think," he added in his defence.

"What other reason would there be, Mr Gallatin?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know," Chris admitted. "But I do know that if we latch on to only one idea, we leave ourselves vulnerable if we are wrong."

Professor Moody snorted, angry with himself. He who prided himself at looking at all the angles had overlooked that one.

"The lad's right about that, Albus," Professor Moody grumbled. "We may be leaving our backs exposed."

Professor Dumbledore stroked his long white beard with one hand as he peered enigmatically at Chris over his half-moon spectacles. The lad made sense. He and Alastor will definitely have to discuss other possibilities soon. He mentally kicked himself for narrowing his focus.

"Minerva, please start the session before these overly clever young people give me more to worry about," he said.

Professor McGonagall maintained a placid façade even in the wake of several grins produced by the headmaster's slip of using her given name.

"I would normally have ladies go first but I believe that Mr Weasley would twitch himself apart if I did that," she said.

Ron joined the others in their laughter.

"Maybe you should have your looking glass out here so that they can see themselves, Mum," Maggie suggested.

"Good idea," her mother replied retrieving her wand. "Accio mirror."

Her old-fashioned, full-length mirror floated into the parlour. It manoeuvred flawlessly around the sofas landing gently beside Professor McGonagall's chair.

"One final point; I know that I have said it before but I wish to reiterate it," she said. "Your forms are unpredictable. Do not try to read too much into what you transform into and do not be overly disappointed if the animal is not one of your liking. It is a great accomplishment to be able to transform at all."

"Many a powerful witch or wizard cannot," Dumbledore said. "I cannot do so."

"Neither can I," Professor Moody said. "And believe me, there were times that eagle wings or cheetah feet would have come in handy."

Henry cleared his throat. "Are you certain about my eyes, Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes, Mr Porter," she reassured the youth. "Professor Moody, in fact, knew an animagus named Michael Delmore who had synthetic eyes."

"He was right bastard of an auror and a mentor to me. Got killed back in '65," Professor Moody said. "He had artificial eyes but could still transform into a falcon with no problems. The eyes adjusted to the skull whether he was man or bird. You will not find yourself blind, laddie boy. "

His pledge and the light kiss that Maggie planted on his cheek settled the nervous young man down.

"If you will, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said pointing to the centre of the room.

Ron who had not bothered to sit down since entering the McGonagall apartment bounded to the spot.

"You know what to do," Professor McGonagall said encouragingly. "Simply relax and do it."

Ron nodded, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes, suppressing his excitement as he began to concentrate on the techniques that they had learned over the school year. Professor McGonagall stressed that speed would come later. First, they should only be concerned with doing it correctly.

Ron felt a tingle spread from the base of his neck to the rest of his body. It was not like an inch. It was more like the time that he accidentally shocked himself handling one of his father's muggle apparatuses. There was a tiny pop. Suddenly his body was like liquid. His back lengthened as his torso dropped to the floor.

He jerked when he heard Chris whistle.

Chris quickly raised his hands when Ron's eyes whipped around to him. "Down, boy," he said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Ron blinked. He was seeing things differently. The colours were less vibrant and his focus, while sharp, was limited as if he were looking through a slot but a tsunami of smells threatened to overwhelm him.

"Cute kitty," Maggie laughed.

"Not quite how I would put it," Henry said.

Ron turned his head, searching for the professor's mirror.

"Oh…wow," he thought in wonder spying his reflection.

"A Bengal tiger, won't you say, Albus?" Professor Moody asked.

"A tiger of some sorts. I'm not well-versed enough in zoology to differentiate," the headmaster said. "Walk around some, Mr Weasley. Get a feel for your form."

Ron obeyed. He padded about the room in the stately manner of felines, adjusting to his now keen sense of smell and acute hearing. He stopped before a candelabrum. He raised a paw and tapped it delicately.

"I understand, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said. "Flame out."

The room was plunged into darkness at McGonagall's command. Within seconds, Ron's cat eyes adjusted to the dark. He could make out the shapes of the people in the room but could more readily smell them. He thought that he could even hear their heartbeats.

"Close your eyes, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall warned. "Flames."

Ron slowly opened his eyes. He stretched then flexed his claws.

"I could do some damage with those," he thought approvingly.

Maggie walked up to him. "Ron, I have just got to pet you," she said. "I hope you don't mind."

Ron playfully bumped his head into the tiny girl's midriff signalling his consent.

"Ooh, so soft," Maggie purred as she began to stroke the fur on his head. Ron flexed his legs and arched his back in sheer enjoyment. A daydream was quickly born involving Tiger Ron and Luna.

"Resume your human form, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore said. He chuckled at the reluctance that he saw when Ron turned his face to him. "Returning to your human form is as important as being about to transform into an animal."

Maggie gave him one last rub behind an ear before she took her seat. Moments later, Ron stood before them, a young man again. The vague look of disappointment vanished as everyone applauded.

"Very good, Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall enthusiastically said.

"Bravo," Henry cried out.

Professor Moody smiled broadly. "That was impressive transformation, Mr Weasley. You have got one hell of an alternate form."

"Yes, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore said. "Allow me to add my congratulations to the general chorus. Well done, animagus."

Ron blushed with pride, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Too bad you can't tell Fred and George," Chris laughed. "They would have a field day with a tiger at their disposal."

"_A wonderful thing is a Tigger_," Maggie sang out.

"_A Tigger's a wonderful thing,"_ Hermione added.

Smiling at each other, they completed the first verse of the song together with increasing gusto.

"_Their tops are made out of rubber,_

_Their bottoms are made out of spring._

_They're bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy,_

_Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun._

_The most wonderful thing about Tiggers is:_

_I'm the only one."1_

Both girls laughed when they finished the tune. Ron stared at them unsure if they were making fun of him or not.

"What happened to the newfound maturity?" Hermione asked brightly.

"As I said, it won't get in the way of fun," Maggie answered.

Chris noticed Ron's look of confusion. "That was a song from a muggle film, mate. I'm willing to bet if we went to Hermione's home right now, we'd find a ton of Winnie-the-Pooh stuff in her room."

"I admit it freely," Hermione laughed. "I adore Winnie. So What?"

"So nothing," Chris replied lightly as Maggie hopped off the couch, scampering to her old bedroom. "Considering that my room at home looks like a shrine to Arsenal, I can hardly tease you too much."

"Not to mention what your middle name is," Henry added deviously.

"It could have gone without mention," Chris replied in exasperation as Professor McGonagall joined Henry in smiling broadly. She knew his full name, also.

"It isn't?" Hermione asked.

She laughed as Chris rolled his eyes. "It is," she exclaimed. "You're Christopher Robin."

"What can I say? Mum loved the stories also," he replied. "I shutter to think what I would have been named if she was into _The Hobbit_ or something like that."

Maggie returned holding a large plush Winnie the Pooh and a smaller Tigger.

Hermione squealed when she spotted the dolls.

"You can keep him in your dorm, if you like," Maggie said handing Winnie to her friend.

"Thank you," Hermione said hugging the bear to her chest. "Silly old bear," she cooed.

"This is Tigger, Ron," Maggie said holding out the plush toy to him.

Ron turned the comical looking doll over in his hands a couple of times before handing it back to Maggie who immediately kissed it. He bewildered by their obvious passion toward what was to his mind two toys. They were not kids anymore. Hermione was even older then he was.

"I'll never understand girls," he said causing Professors Dumbledore and Moody to laugh.

"Welcome to the club," Professor Moody said

"Since Miss Granger seems enthralled with her new companion why don't you go next, Mr Gallatin," Professor McGonagall said.

Ron finally sat down as Chris took his place in the centre of the room. Ron watched as his friend went through the same physical and mental preparations that he done just a short time earlier. Chris, however, was faster. His sudden transformation took Ron by surprise causing him to leap out of the chair, tipping it over in the process.

"Spider," Ron spluttered.

"It's still Chris," Hermione admonished watching the large, hairy house spider that Chris had become with avid interest.

"I don't like spiders," Ron nearly whimpered.

"Oh, for goodness sake," she said extending her hand down to Chris. Ron paled as Chris walked onto her palm. When Hermione lifted him to her face, Chris playfully tapped her on the tip of her nose with his two forelegs. She giggled setting him back down on the floor.

Chris immediately ran to the fireplace. As everyone watched, he rapidly he scaled the rough stonework to the mantle. Moments later, leaping off the side to avoid the oven, he rappelled to the floor on a silk strand of his creation.

"That was so cool," he whooped as he resumed his human form.

"You like being a spider?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Oh man, yeah," Chris excitedly said. "I could move so fast and the peripheral vision was unreal. I could see almost all around me. I felt more then heard you guys talk but I could understand what you were saying."

Professor McGonagall saw the glance that passed between Albus and Alastor. Ron's tiger was indeed impressive but when it came to form that a spy could use, an arachnid was near perfect. Who noticed a spider in a corner? It was the proverbial fly on the wall.

"Outstanding, Mr Gallatin," she said returning her attention to her student. "Did you have to think about the silk at all?"

"No, Professor," he replied. "I just knew what to do. The instincts come with the form, I guess. I could have made a web if I wanted to."

"Headmaster? Professor Moody?" she asked.

"Excellent job, Mr Gallatin," said Professor Dumbledore softly clapping his hands.

"Remarkable form, Mr Gallatin," Professor Moody said. "If you cast a disillusionment charm on you, you could go just about anywhere overlooked and ignored."

"The girl's dorm?" Chris asked roguishly.

Hermione snorted. "Trust a boy to become an animagus for some perverted purpose."

"A boy my age interested in girls my age is considered normal therefore while the purpose might be immoral but it is not perverted," Chris lightly replied.

"Whatever," Hermione answered. "I'll simply squash any spider that I find in the shower from now on."

"That was a disillusion charm, Professor?" Chris humorously asked sitting back down beside Hermione.

"Disillusionment, Mr Gallatin," Professor Moody chuckled in reply.

"Why don't you go next, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said. "Perhaps your form will be an insectivore."

"With any luck," a smiling Hermione answered handing Pooh to Chris.

"Christopher Robin," she chuckled as he sat the bear on his lap.

"Go do your magic, Hermione," he replied shooing her to the room's centre.

As did Chris and Ron before her, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her well-disciplined mind quickly fell to the task following the techniques that she had learned over the last several months. The change when it came was not as she expected. It was not dramatic or earth shattering. There was only a tiny pop and her body collapsed in on itself.

When she opened her eyes, the world looked different to Hermione. Like Ron, she discovered that colours were far less crisp. Furthermore, much of the room was blurry. She was also looking up at nearly everything but her brain was analysing a flood of smells.

She trotted over to the looking glass. She was quite close before her reflection came into focus. Bright amber eyes looked back at her from a red furry face dominated by a sharp snort.

"I always knew that you were a fox," Chris quipped.

Hermione flicked her tail at him.

"Okay, message received," he laughed.

Hermione trotted around the room. She wanted to run but with her now poor vision, she was afraid that she would collide with the wall or some furniture. She contented herself with walking alternating with a few pounces before gracefully leaping onto the sofa next to Chris. She was about to change back into her human form when he began to stroke her fur. She thought that she would melt as he ran a firm hand slowly from the top of her head to her bushy tail several times.

Professor McGonagall knew what Hermione was feeling. She had been petted often enough as a cat.

"Mr Gallatin, if you would take your hand off of Miss Granger long enough for her to change back," she said knowing the younger woman probably hated her in that moment.

"Sorry, Professor," Chris said snatching his hand away. "She has very soft fur."

Hermione returned to her human form.

"Welcome back, vixen," Chris said with a wink returning Pooh Bear to her.

A small smile came to Hermione's lips but she could not bring herself to look Chris in the eye.

The others in the room clapped.

"Very, very good, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said.

"A fine piece of work, Miss Granger," the Headmaster added enthusiastically. "You should be proud of yourself."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall," Hermione politely replied consciously trying not to sound too pleased. It was difficult. Since coming to Hogwarts, it was the one spell that she wanted to try more then any other. To be able to do so at long last was soul satisfying even with the visual limitations of the fox.

"And that leaves us with but one," Professor McGonagall said.

Henry nodded but did not rise from the couch. Maggie nudged him after a few moments.

"You can do it, Henry," Maggie said encouragingly.

"Yes, I know," he replied quietly slowly getting to his feet.

His disinclination was not rooted in fear of failure but of success. For weeks, he had a growing trepidation of this night. He knew, with a presignification that would have gotten him an OWL in divination if he had bothered to take the class that tonight would be a fateful step. It would be his Rubicon.

He bowed his head, casting the metaphysical dice. He simply emptied his mind as he did when he entered a trance. The transformation was almost instantaneous.

He scarcely felt his body change but knew that he had transfigured when he heard the gasps of astonishment. Even the unflappable Professor Moody cried out in surprise.

Henry nearly fell as an onslaught of awareness crashed into his brain. If the others suffered diminished vision, his only increased. Not only could he see everything with a clarity that reached an almost painful level, he could see auras as he did with Maggie when he linked with her and heat patterns as they radiated from everyone. He could see in the faces of the aged professors the faces they wore as children and young adults. He could feel the earth's magnetic fields as well as the enchantments that Professor McGonagall had placed on her apartment to ensure the privacy and security of the sessions. He sensed the spirit of the castle. Most unnerving of all was a single brief message sent to his mind from the height of Dumbledore's tower.

"Godric Gryffindor would have been most pleased," Fawkes said.

As he struggled to gain mastery over the incoming data, he looked to the mirror. The synthetic eyes had indeed changed shape accommodating his new skull but they remained an emerald green incongruous in his new face. Otherwise, he fit the classic description. Large golden beak, body and wings covered in crimson feathers, and golden talons and golden tail plumage. He was a phoenix.

Henry remained where he was, uncertain as to what to do next. Even as large as Professor McGonagall's parlour was, his great wingspan prohibited any attempt to fly and as a bird just walking about made little sense. Maggie solved his dilemma.

"Henry," she began in an awed voice. "Will you sing for us?"

The song of the phoenix came unbidden from Henry's throat. It was a song of hope, faith, and courage. Everyone in the room listened spellbound. Their fears and cares vanished, melting like ice before Zephyrus. Peace caressed them. Contentment hugged them. Love washed over them.

Henry's heart, however, was armoured against tranquillity. The looks of rapture on the faces of his friends froze his soul. The dread that Hermione's earlier words evoked came stampeding back.

"They will follow me anywhere now," he thought anxiously. "I have got to stop Voldemort at the first opportunity."

1. The Wonderful thing about Tiggers lyrics by Robert B. Sherman. (Music by Richard M. Sherman) From the Walt Disney Co. production of Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day 1968 (repeated in several subsequent films and television programmes)


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: See previous chapter

Chapter 8

_In which Henry prepares for the third task_

The great hall of Hogwarts Castle reverberated with conversation. Breakfast was usually the quietest of the three meals but with the final task of the Triwizards Tournament scheduled for that evening as well as another day of year-end examinations, voices were louder and more animated then was normal. The stress of the tests and the excitement of the task left many with only meagre appetites.

The most active of the students were the amateur bookmakers. They were doing a thriving if clandestine business that morning as more and more of their classmates gave into the temptation for a flutter on the tournament outcome. Dozens and dozens of eyes sought out the four champions as they dined looking for some subtle clue. Who seemed confident; who was decidedly frightened. The bettors were looking for any tiny hint before they laid their money on the line.

Fleur Delacour, sitting among her Beauxbatons schoolmates, looked elegant, beautiful and icily determined. Her poor showing in the second task had left her far behind the other three champions. Only a spectacular performance in the final task would garner her victory. She ate daintily, feasting on a tradition French breakfast of bread with jam and a bowl of coffee.

To many, Viktor Krum looked as forbidding as always. Durmstrang's sinister reputation among the Hogwarts student population tarred him even if the two Hogwarts champions often spoke about how much they liked him and that he was dating a Gryffindor girl (although rumour had the pair breaking up last week). Yet no matter how they viewed him, more then one person in the Great Hall decided that he was the one on who to bet as they watched the hawk-faced young man calmly eat his food as if today was the same as any other day.

Sitting at the head of the Hufflepuff table, the popular and gregarious Cedric Diggory was at the eye of a swirling mass of people. It seemed as if every student at the school was determined to come by and wish him luck. He drew upon their exuberance, his vim and confidence skyrocketing as the meal progressed.

By choice, Henry Porter sat at the far end of the Hufflepuff table. He had no animosity toward Cedric but he guessed correctly that the well-liked Cedric would attract a lot of attention today. Henry did not want to be near such chaos while he was trying to eat his breakfast although, his desire not withstanding, more then a few did wander down to him to voice their good wishes.

"My poor dear," Maggie chuckled as she noticed Henry's struggle to remain polite to those who, he understood, only meant well. "You'll soon be rescued. Class begins shortly."

"Yeah," he agreed, trying to wolf down the last of his porridge before anyone else came to him. "All-in-all, I just assume take the exams."

"You're exempt," Maggie said lightly. "Live with that burden."

"I know but the tests allow you to know how much you really have learned and how much you have deluded yourself," Henry replied seriously.

Maggie rolled her eyes. "You and Hermione. Both of you could get a dozen OWLs and probably a NEWT or two tomorrow yet you act like you're worried about every test."

"A dozen OWLs is far-fetched," a distracted Henry replied. He watched as Professor McGonagall spoke briefly with Ron and Ginny sitting at the Gryffindor table. The siblings immediately leaped up and scampered toward the antechamber directly off the Great Hall. Hermione caught his eye and waved to Henry.

"Are you done?" she pantomimed.

Henry nodded as he pushed himself away from the table. Maggie, who had long since been finished with her breakfast followed suit. Within seconds, Hermione and Chris were standing with the Hufflepuff couple along the wall. They were out of the flow of foot traffic as students began to leave the hall heading for their first test.

"Good morning, Maggie. Good Morning, Henry," Hermione said. "I saw the set of your jaw whenever anyone interrupted your breakfast so I thought I'd wait until you were finished."

Henry and Maggie echoed her greeting before Henry added. "Yet another reason to love you."

"How are you feeling, cuz?" Chris asked.

"Cross and relieved."

"Cross and relieved?" Chris repeated. "Not quite the reply I expected."

"I woke up cross, I don't know why," Henry explained. "But I'm also relieved. This tournament nonsense will be over with in a few hours and then I can fade back into obscurity again."

"I don't know about that," Chris said dubiously. "We still don't know who put your name into the Goblet of Fire. That's a very large question that cannot be ignored."

"Go ahead and rain on my parade, why don't you," Henry groaned.

Hermione and Chris laughed as Maggie patted her boyfriend's hand. "My poor put upon bairn. Everyone's ganging up on you this morning but Chris is right. Tis not a wee matter."

"What's up with Ron and Ginny?" Henry asked not wanting to think about it now.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. I couldn't hear what Professor McGonagall was telling them."

"She spoke with Fred and George just moments before that and they ran off, also," Chris said. "The first thing that comes to mind would be a family emergency of some sorts but the Professor did not look worried or sympathetic which I know that she would have if something were truly wrong."

"You may get your answer soon, Henry," Hermione said looking over his shoulder. "Your Head of House is bearing down on you. I'll see you at lunch."

"Good luck on your exam," Henry said. "Don't get caught cheating, Chris."

His cousin laughed, punching him lighting on the arm before he and Hermione joined the throng exiting the room.

"I'll be off myself," Maggie said. "I'll see if I find some way to make you less irritable at lunch." She kissed him lightly before turning away.

"Mister Porter, there you are," Professor Sprout said in an effusive tone as she bustled to his side. "You're wanted in the antechamber beyond the staff table."

"Yes, Professor," Henry replied, far more interested in Maggie's veiled promise then anything his Herbology professor had to say. "Is it about the final task?"

"Please call it the third task," she said gently guiding Henry in the correct direction by a hand on his shoulder. "Final has a certain ominous ambience and we've come this far without any serious injury to any of you. Let us not inadvertently invite doom with a careless turn of phrase."

"What has Professor Trelawney predicted this time?" Henry asked as they walked along.

"She said that…never mind what she said," Professor Sprout replied. "But back to your original question, yes, this is part of the _third _task. The headmaster has invited the families and friends of each champion as well as some others to spend the day here."

"Just in case," Henry added devilishly.

Professor Sprout's face flushed bright red as she sucked in a loud breath. "MR PORTER, I will not hear such talk. You young people find it clever to scoff but magic works in myriad ways especially in a place like Hogwarts. Only the foolish tempt fate or court disaster if they don't have to do so."

"I'm sorry, miss," Henry said sincerely. "I was just trying to make a joke. Some gallows humour, as it were.

"Some subjects are not to be joked about," she forcefully said.

"Yes, professor," he replied.

The hard set of her shoulders relaxed as they approached the door. "You have built up an amazing amount of good will not only over the course of this year but in the four years that you have been here, Mr Porter, as has Mr Diggory also in his time at Hogwarts. That sort of thing takes on a tangible presence in a place like this. It may not be a protective charm as we normally think of one but it might be just that little extra you need when you need it tonight so don't mock it."

"Yes, miss," Henry said. "It'll be great to see mom and dad."

Professor Sprout's face clouded. "I'm sorry, Mr Porter, I spoke poorly. Your parents are not here. Being muggles…"

"Considering the known views of many of those who will be here today, Professor Dumbledore decided that it would not be in his best interests to have muggles present," Henry supplied insolently coming to a stop.

"That's not a fair way to put it," his teacher snapped. "I would say that is a gross misrepresentation and a slur. The Headmaster has spoken out publicly again and again against prejudice toward muggles and muggleborns."

"Yes, he has," replied Henry blandly. "And yet my parents are not here. Why should I go in there?"

Professor Sprout looked stern. "Because Mister Porter, while the Headmaster did not bring your parents here, he did bring someone that he thought was a good friend of yours. Do not scorn what you have simply because it is not what you wanted. A want, I may add, you did not even think about until a minute ago."

Henry shook his head. "I'm truly sorry, miss," he said contritely. "It's just that I woke up out-of-sorts and I just can't seem to get on track."

"And all of the attention this morning hasn't help," Professor Sprout guessed. She had come to know that Henry was simply one of those solitary boys that preferred to be left alone. The tournament had been trying for him more for being in the limelight then the actual tasks themselves. "Go on in there. I must be off now or a whole class will be exempt from the Herbology exam not just you."

"Yes, miss."

Henry pushed opened the door. Without thinking about it, he slid into the antechamber as Professor Moody has taught him. He stepped immediately away from the swing of the door and stopped. With his back to the wall, he quickly scanned the room. There were several adults that Henry did not recognize standing about in small knots. The Weasley siblings were standing with their mother and their eldest brother, Bill whom Henry had yet to meet but recognised from the several photographs of him that he had seen.

"The Headmaster is sneaking in some members of the Order of the Phoenix under the guise of guests," Henry surmised. "Is he expecting trouble or is he just being cautious?"

Henry spotted Viktor in a corner with two middle-aged people. Henry grinned slightly. Viktor would not have to guess what he would look like in his forties. Save for the greying hair of the older Krum, father and son were mirror images. Mrs Krum was tall, slender and smartly dressed. Unlike her husband and son, her face was lively and full of good humour.

Fleur was with her mother and younger sister near the centre of the room. Fleur was clearly happy to see her mother but Henry noticed that the French girl's eyes kept cutting toward Bill Weasley. Madame Delacour smiled knowingly, noticing her daughter's interest also.

Cedric's parents had come to Hogwarts also. Mrs Diggory was chattering like a magpie but Mr Diggory was staring over his son's shoulder at Henry. Henry saw both curiosity and animosity in Amos Diggory's stare.

"Look, mate," Henry thought. "I didn't ask to be co-champion with your son."

"Henry, how are you?"

Barbara Thane swooped down on Henry pulling him into an ardent hug making him the envy of every man in the room. Henry's return hug was as heartfelt. Much of his grouchiness vanished in an instant.

"I thought that you had your boards to take?" Henry asked as they broke apart.

Barbara smiled broadly. "Passed the last one yesterday," she nearly sang. "I am now a certified healer."

"That's grand," Henry replied happily. "Congratulations. Your family must be very proud of you."

Barbara nodded. "They are. The formal ceremony is next week in London where we are officially given our license but mum's planning a party for that weekend for friends and family at the farm. I think that I've all but convinced Professor Dumbledore to let you leave school early so that you can attend."

"I'd love to," Henry replied. "I never understood why we stayed here so long after the last class any way."

"Supposedly it's for administrative reasons," Barbara answered. "Retests, helping the new graduates with resumes, that sort…"

Barbara stopped when the Headmaster began to speak. "I would like to welcome our guests to Hogwarts especially the families of our champions."

"Or something close to it," Barbara whispered.

"You are family," Henry replied quietly.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder pulling him tightly to her side as her attention reverted to Professor Dumbledore."

"…the best of each of the great magic academies and have shown great ingenuity in the performance of the tasks. All of you have good reason to be very proud of your children. We have a luncheon planned for one o'clock on board the Durmstrang galley. Beyond that, we have no demands upon your time. Feel free to wander about the castle and the grounds or to the village. Champions have leave to go there with their families if they so desire. Everyone enjoy yourselves, and I am at your disposal. Other then me handing in my resignation, I will do my best to fulfil all requests."

Laughter greeted the end of the headmaster's short welcoming speech. The Wesley siblings say a quick good-bye to their mother and Bill before dashing out of the room.

"That looks like a good idea," Henry said as they passed him and Barbara by. "But what would you like to do?"

"Follow suit, actually," Barbara replied. "I could do without making small talk to strangers as they stare at my bosom."

With conspirator's smiles to one another, they quickly slipped out of the antechamber. Moments later, they were outside basking in the warm sunlight that rained down from a cloudless azure sky.

"Now what?" Henry asked.

Barbara shrugged. "Let's walk down by the lake and you can tell me what you know about the next task."

"It's a maze," Henry said falling into step with his friend. "I'm guessing that it's the first one to the centre and that there will be obstacles to overcome from start to finish."

"In all likelihood," Barbara agreed. "Think you'll win?"

Henry's smile nearly split his face. "I have a plan."

"Care to share it with a somewhat interested bystander?" asked Barbara.

Her smile became as broad as Henry's when he told her. "Brillant!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** See previous chapter

Chapter 9

_In which masks are removed _

The stands that lined one side of the maze groaned under the weight of the hundreds of spectators that buzzed with excitement waiting for the third task of the Triwizards Tournament to begin. Many of the students waved school or national flags while others unfurled banners or held aloft placards that extolled one contestant or another. The Beauxbatons contingent sang _La Fleur de la Victorie, _a surprisingly good song one of Fleur's schoolmates had composed for the occasion. No one from Durmstrang wrote an ode to Viktor but the steady chant of '_Krum' _made their presence known to the rest of the audience. The Brits, in a show of unity, did not shout the names of their two champions. Instead, they whirled noisemakers and screamed 'Hogwarts' at the top of their lungs.

In the center of the stands, cordoned off with colorful bunting, was the section for the staff and the visiting luminaries. The heads of the three competing academies seat in the places of honor with the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge and the family members of the contestants. Sprinkled among the guests that Albus Dumbledore had invited were Bartemius Crouch and other Ministry bureaucrats who made the trip up from London. Madame Delacour seated next to Bill Weasley conducted a polite, cunning, and very through interrogation of the handsome, unsuspecting young man. Molly Weasley found herself next to Delores Umbridge. Neither woman was too pleased with the arrangement but both kept their tongues.

Ludo Bagman eyed the setting sun then the great clock sitting atop a tower erected at one end of the stands. He glanced at Mister Fudge who curtly nodded. With a grunt, Ludo pushed himself from his chair and stepped to the announcer's lectern.

"Ladies and gentlemen, guests and students," his magically augmented voice boomed. "On behalf of the British Ministry for Magic, its Department of Magical Games and Sports, its Department of International Cooperation, and the Heads of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts, I'd like to welcome you to the third and final task of the Triwizards Tournament!"

The cheers shook the trees on the surrounding mountainsides.

"The competitors will enter the maze in order of their current position in the tournament," Bagman continued. "Starting with the two Hogwarts champions, Cedric Diggory and Henry Porter."

A tremendous cheer went up at the mention of Cedric that all but drowned out Henry's name.

Ludo Bagman paused before announcing Viktor and Fleur waiting between each name to allow them their ovations also.

"Without further ado," he said as Fleur's fans quieted down. "Let us begin the task. Mister Diggory, Mister Porter, to your marks, please."

The crowd roared as Cedric sped into the maze at a dead run the moment Ludo Bagman blew the whistle. Henry Porter trotted after him. Cedric scarcely slowed down at the first fork as he shouted "Lumos". He threw a quick glance in both directions before speeding down the right hand corridor.

Henry jogged along, his eyes adjusting to the increasing darkness with ease. When he got to the fork, he shrugged indifferently. After the briefest of hesitations, he chose the opposite fork from Cedric's pick and vanished down it.

A few minutes later, Bagman blew his whistle again. The Durmstrang students bellowed their encouragement as Viktor bounded from the starting line like a deer. He ran down the trail casting a light from his wand without breaking stride. When he got to the fork, he immediately followed Cedric.

Fleur Delacour bounced agitatedly on the balls of her feet waiting for her signal. Ludo Bagman intently watched the large clock. The minute hand swept closer and closer to where Fleur's name glowed in red letters on its face.

"Be on your mark, Miss Delacour, if you please," Bagman said as the time neared. Fleur ground a foot into the grass as she leaned forward.

At the whistle, she flew down the pathway. "Lumos," she shouted as she approached the fork. The tip of her wand instantly glowed like a small star. It shed ample light dispelling the dark shadows of the high hedge. As she reached the first fork, she spun on her toes, deftly turned down the left passageway. She ran all out for ten meters before turning again only to nearly trip over her feet in surprise. Henry was standing in the middle of the corridor.

"Careful," Henry said catching her before she could fall. "You may want to slow down from here on out. You don't want to dash into anything that could be avoided."

A series of emotions rapidly crossed her beautiful face before she settled on a frown. "Why have you stopped?"

"I was waiting for you to enter the maze," he answered.

"Why?" she demanded suspiciously.

"Once you are in the maze, the task is completely underway," replied Henry.

Confusion pushed suspicion from her eyes. "I don't understand," she admitted.

"No need for you to," Henry said walking back from whence they came. "Good luck."

Fleur watched him until he turned the corner. "Les Anglais sont tres etranges," she muttered with a shake of her head.

Henry pocketed his wand before running a hand over his head. Relief flooded through him. He was walking away from the third task unscathed and there was nothing Bagman, Crouch, or anyone else could say to him. Whoever wanted him dead would have to find another way. He shoved a hand under his robes fumbling for the medallion. He cast his thoughts to Maggie the moment his fingers touched it.

_"I'm coming out," _Henry projected. He could feel Maggie's return chuckles.

_"You'll know who bet on you by the cries of anguish," _she replied.

_"I told everyone that I wasn't going to win,"_ Henry answered.

_"They put it down as modesty," _she said. _"I have to go. Barbara's looking inquisitive."_

_"Why are we still keeping this a secret?" _Henry asked but Maggie did not reply.

"Mister Porter," Professor McGonagall called out as he emerged from the maze. "What's the meaning of this? Why are you out here?"

"Oh, bollocks, I forgot," Henry replied raising a hand to his forehead in mock chagrin. "If you leave the maze, you're disqualified. Oh, the shame."

Professor McGonagall blinked in confusion before laughing heartily feeling the weight of worry lift from her shoulders. "You'll never make an actor."

Henry hung his head, which brought more peals of laughter from his teacher. "Come, Mister Porter, I'll escort you back to the stands."

Professor McGonagall draped an arm across the young man's shoulders as they walked along. "You know that you'll be called many nasty things in the coming days."

"I don't care," he said quietly. "I'm alive. Besides, it'll be a bit hard to call me much when all I have to do is remind people that I faced a dragon, twice."

"No," She agreed glancing fondly over at the boy. "Coward is a charge that will not stick, to be sure. At the risk of inflating your ego allow me to say that I'm impressed, Mister Porter. You did not let pride trump your common sense. You're a very mature young man."

Henry shrugged casually but delight flooded through him. Praise from Professor McGonagall was precious to him. Only his parents and Maggie's good opinion of him meant more to him. "What do I care about a contest that I didn't even want to be in to begin with? I just hope that what ever was designed to kill me in there doesn't get any of the others."

Professor McGonagall grimaced. "That is one aspect of this that does puzzle me. I know everything that is in the maze. All are challenging but there is nothing that terribly insurmountable. I cannot see where the trap is if there is one."

"Someone snuck something in maybe," guessed Henry.

"No," the professor replied with a shake of her head. "We finished our inspection of the maze just a few minutes before the task began. There was nothing there that should not have been and no one had the time to place anything in afterward."

Henry rubbed his chin in confusion. "Maybe Chris was right. Maybe the purpose wasn't to kill me but why else go through all of the trouble of getting into the tournament?"

Before Professor McGonagall replied, a portion of the assemblage spotted them. The cry of 'Porter's out' came from a dozen throats. As if by command, hundreds of confused, surprised faces quickly turned to them. Scores of startle conversations sprung to life, punctuated by several cries of disgust.

Not content to wait, Mr. Crouch hurtled from the main box. Running with a speed that belied his age, he instantly closed on Henry.

"What is the meaning of this, Porter?" he roared.

"I'm done," Henry replied nonchalantly.

"You have to finish the task!" the older man yelled.

"No, I don't," Henry answered calmly. "I only had to attempt it."

"Mr. Porter has fulfilled his obligation, Sir," Professor McGonagall sternly lectured. "You and your rules have no other hold on him. Would you not agree, Headmaster?"

Albus Dumbledore ambled over, followed by most of the luminaries from the main box. His bright blue eyes twinkled merrily over his half-moon spectacles.

"I'd have to say that she's right," he said. "Miss Delacour failed to complete the second task yet was not forced back into the lake. It is the attempt, not the success that the rules require."

Mr. Crouch glared at both the Headmaster and at Henry before he took a loud deep breath then slowly exhaled. "Yes," he quietly admitted. "That is right."

Professor McGonagall started to smile before she saw Mr. Crouch swiftly raise his wand.

"Stupefy!"

Professor McGonagall did not hear the screams that reverberated about the stands as her body collapsed against Henry. Students dove for cover as wands materialized in the hands of every adult but Mr. Crouch had the element of surprise on his side. Before any wand could come to bear on him, he leaped behind Henry who was trying to ease the Professor to the ground. Mr. Crouch grabbed the boy's collar roughly pulling him to his feet.

"Back off, Dumbledore," Crouch snarled jabbing his wand into Henry's throat. "Don't make me kill the boy. Lord Voldemort has need of Potter."

"Voldemort!" Ludo Bagman exclaimed in disbelief. "Have you gone mad, Barty?"

"That is not Bartemius Crouch," Dumbledore ventured trying to inch his way into a clear shot. "Stay calm, Henry. We won't let him hurt you."

"Oh, but I am," he replied chuckling evilly as he dragged the struggling Henry slowly backward.

"Ah, the younger Crouch. Not dead after all, are we?" Professor Dumbledore guessed. "Polyjuice."

"Too right," Bartemius Crouch, Jr said. "If you're interested enough, you can find dear old poppa buried in the backyard."

"You murdered your own father?" a horrified Mister Fudge asked.

"With a smile on my face," Bartemius replied. "Now everyone back away. Harry Potter has a date with destiny."

"Drop your wand, Crouch," Fudge said trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably. "Besides, that lad is not Harry Potter."

Crouch laughed harshly. "One thing Dad and I agreed on, Fudge, was that you are a complete git; living proof that mediocrity is no bar to advancement. This is Potter, you idiot. He was right before your eyes and you didn't know it. You had your lackeys skulking though Hogwarts all year and they couldn't see the truth. My master did and he's going to reap the benefits."

Fudge looked at Dumbledore in askance. "Is that true? Is that Harry Potter?"

Dumbledore kept his eyes on the still moving Crouch. "This is not the time, Minister." He growled.

"It is true," Dolores Umbridge shouted. "His guilt is written all over him. Indisputably evidence of what I've been telling you, sir. Dumbledore can't be trusted."

The headmaster ignored the tirade. "Give yourself up, Crouch. There is nowhere for you to go. There are too many of us and there is no escape from these grounds."

Crouch laughed again. "No escape? Ah, but there is and you allowed it in without a second thought. Accio Portkey!"

Henry caught a glimpse of his captor's extended wand. Seeing his opportunity, he raised his foot then drove it down onto Mr. Crouch's instep. As his captor howled in agony, Henry smashed his elbow backwards into the solar plexus before quickly twisting his body, flipping Crouch over his hip.

The Triwizard Cup whipped past Henry's head as Crouch hit the grass. With a rib-breaking crunch, the trophy crashed into Crouch's chest. His scream of pain and his reflexive grabbing of the cup were simultaneous. The would-be kidnapper vanished leaving only an tortured 'Noooo' echoing in his wake.

There was a moment of stunned stillness. Only a slight breeze rustling the leaves of the maze hedge disturbed the silence. Dumbledore was the first to move, dropping quickly to his knees to check Professor McGonagall's pulse. As if his movement were a signal, everyone began to stir at once. Mister Fudge grabbed Henry's arm as the boy started toward the crumpled figure of his teacher.

"Are you Harry Potter?" he asked in a wild voice.

"Let go of me," Henry said.

"Are you Harry Potter?" The Minister again asked giving the boy an impatient shake.

Henry suppressed the desire to punch the Minister in the throat. "My name is Henry Porter," he replied as calmly as he could. "Now, let me go. I need to see Professor McGonagall."

Delores Umbridge stepped forward. With an evil glint in her eye, she smeared some dirt across Henry's forehead. Her eyes widened as the soil highlighted the barely visible reminder of where the killing curse had struck the boy so many years earlier.

"The scar," she shouted jubilantly. "You can see the scar! It is Potter! Dumbledore has lied to us! He has lied to us all!"

Rita Skeeter ran to Henry's side, her Quick Quotes Quill barely keeping up with her. "Harry, why did you keep your identity a secret? Did Dumbledore force you? Do you know who you are?"

Henry jerked his arm free of the minister's grasp. Fudge did not try to grab him again but he and Rita Skeeter kept bombarding him with questions as people rushed to them like a collapsing wave. Henry frantically searched the gathering crowd for Headmaster or Maggie but the horde surged forward erecting a barrier of bodies.

"Let me though," Henry said. "I need to see if Professor McGonagall is all right."

"Answer me, boy," Fudge shouted stepping in front of Henry as he tried to pass. "What did Dumbledore tell you?"

"How do you feel about this attempt to kidnap you?" Rita Skeeter asked. "What would your parents think about you using an alias?"

"Let me through," Henry repeated searching for an opening that was not there. People surrounded him.

"Answer the questions," Umbridge snapped. "And don't think that being a minor will protect you if we find out that you are part of a conspiracy against the Ministry."

'What would you like to say to the readers of _The Daily Prophet?_" Rita Skeeter asked. "Give us a quote we can use. It'll be front page tomorrow."

"Here's my quote. I'm outta here," Henry shouted in anger. He shoved his arms upward. On the down stroke, the mighty wings of a phoenix propelled him into the night sky. He disappeared over the mountains before anyone could say a word.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_In which groundwork is laid_

In the swirling sea of chaos that engulfed Hogwarts in the aftermath of the Triwizards Tournament, Maggie was an island of calm. She went about her days as if nothing had happened. While others gossiped like magpies, she remained quiet. She deflected questions about Henry with polite, vague replies that revealed nothing. Most respected her reticence but after some of her nosier classmates became more persistent, Hufflepuff closed ranks. Led by Cedric Diggory, a discrete phalanx of bodyguards escorted her everywhere. A few well-aimed hexes effectively got the message across to the other three houses; bother Maggie McGonagall and you were badger food.

The students knew that Maggie was Henry's girlfriend but that tidbit of information eluded the outsiders that swarmed over Hogwarts. The significance of her part in the second task never registered with them. No reporter from the _Daily Prophet _or the _WWN_ thought to question the tiny girl beyond asking how she was holding up during her mother's recovery. None of the ministry bureaucrats that were poking their beaks into every corner even asked her that much.

"Thank you," Maggie sincerely said accepting a small valise from Cedric when they arrived at her mother's apartment. "For everything. I hope that you have a great summer."

Cedric gave into an impulse. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. "You're welcome, Maggie," he replied. "When you talk to Henry next, give him my best but also tell him I'm disappointed that he conceded the last task. I'd really like to know if I could have beaten him fairly."

Maggie smiled. "He always said that you were the true Hogwarts champion. He was certain that you would win the tournament."

Cedric beamed. "Keep your chin up." He said giving her a jaunty salute before spinning away, skipping down the stairwell. A bemused Maggie watched him for a moment before opening the door.

"Ah, Maggie, there you are," Professor McGonagall said from where she was sitting on one of her sofas. "Is that the last of your things?"

"Yes, mum," she replied. Maggie looked carefully at her mother. Her colour was returning but her voice still was weak. Even two weeks after the attack, she tired easily but Madame Pomfrey assured Maggie that with rest, she would make a full recovery before the end of summer. Barbara had seconded that opinion.

"Please sit down, my dearest one," Professor McGonagall said, gesturing to a chair near her.

"What is it, Mum?" she asked taking the indicated chair.

"Changes," Professor McGonagall said in a deep sigh. "Some good, others…time will tell."

Maggie nodded but waited mutely for her mother to continue.

"Let us begin with the bad," said Professor McGonagall after a pause. "We will have to move. No one in an official capacity has yet made it public but Professor Dumbledore will be removed as Headmaster and many of the staff including myself undoubtedly will be given the sack as well."

"I'm very sorry, Mum," Maggie sadly replied. "I know how much being a teacher means to you."

"Thank you but what about you?" her mother asked. "This is the only home that you have ever known."

"Home is where the people you love are," Maggie replied simply although sorrow drifted across her face.

Minerva McGonagall gazed at her daughter. Thousands of students matured under her tutelage yet Maggie's transformation into a young woman was unsettling. She knew that it was the natural order but she hated losing her little girl. She shook her head. The years were so short but they were good years. Rejoice in that she thought.

"Where we'll be is not yet decided," Professor McGonagall finally said. "But it will include the Headmaster. Albus has asked me to marry him and I have accepted."

Gloom disappeared in an instant. Maggie squealed in delight launching herself at her mother, wrapping her into a powerful hug.

Minerva returned the hug laughing along with her daughter. The two of them rocked back and forth sharing the joy. It was several moments before they broke apart. When they did, Maggie sat beside her mother, still clinging to her hand.

Professor McGonagall swiped at a tear with her free hand before clearing her throat hesitantly. "I gather that you approve, then?"

"Aye, Mum, with all of my heart," Maggie replied. "Of course, I would have approved even more if he had asked you years ago instead of waiting for you to nearly get killed."

"I wasn't nearly killed," Professor McGonagall corrected.

"Barty Crouch, Jr. didn't do you any kindness with his attack even if thankfully he didn't use a killing curse," Maggie countered.

Her mother waved a dismissive hand. "But I lived. Let us not dwell upon things that might have happened. There is another matter."

"Oh?"

"Albus was curious if you would allow him to officially adopt you after the wedding," said Professor McGonagall.

Maggie arched an eyebrow in surprise. "That's unexpected."

"Is it?" Minerva asked.

"He's the nearest thing to a father that I've ever known," Maggie began. "Not saying anything against you," she added quickly. "It's just…I've always loved him but while he's been kind and thoughtful to me, I didn't think that he liked me anymore then any other student."

Minerva looked deep into her daughter's blue eyes. "Albus has difficulty showing his deeper emotions but trust me when I say that he loves you very, very much."

"Truly?"

"Aye, my dearest one, truly."

Maggie pursed her brow in thought. For years, she expected the Headmaster to become her mother's husband but oddly, she had not equated that with becoming his daughter. "Maggie Dumbledore, I could live with that," she mused. "You can tell the Headmaster, father, that I love him, too and I'd be happy to be adopted by him."

Minerva smiled in relief. "You should tell Albus that you love him yourself, force the old fossil to admit that he loves you."

Maggie nodded in agreement. "That'll be nice. What else?"

"Henry got a letter to the Headmaster through the Weasleys," Professor McGonagall said.

"What did he say?" Maggie asked trying to sound curious and apprehensive.

"He was very apologetic," Professor McGonagall replied. "He realizes that he made an incredibly stupid mistake leaving like he did."

"It wasn't incredibly stupid," Maggie said rising to Henry's defense.

"Yes, it was," Minerva replied evenly. "It cemented the Minister's belief that Hogwarts was a hotbed of Anti-Ministry conspiracies and exposed Henry as an unregistered animagus."

"That's not fair," Maggie snapped leaping to her feet. "Henry has done everything that you, the Headmaster, and everyone else have asked him to do and he did it without complaint. Now you're going to turn on him."

"Calm down, Maggie," her mother said. "Henry, by his own admission, made an error in judgment but no one is turning on him. He is still the best hope for a world without the menace of the Dark Lord. Mad-Eye is very proud of him at the moment."

"Proud?" asked Maggie suspiciously. "Why?"

Professor McGonagall chuckled. "The Ministry has unleashed every hound at its disposal and likely so has Voldemort yet they haven't picked up the slightest scent of him yet. He learned his lessons even better then we thought."

"He is good," Maggie said sitting back down.

"Yes, he is," her mother agreed. "But we must still deal with the repercussions. We're leaving Hogwarts tomorrow. We won't be back."

"Ever?"

"Forever is a long time," Minerva said lightly. "But for the foreseeable future, no."

Maggie slowing nodded absorbing the situation. As her mother had said, Hogwarts Castle was then only home that she ever knew. Leaving it would be painful, even in that company of her loved ones.

"Where are we going?" she asked at length.

"London, first," Minerva replied. "Sirius Black has offered to host our wedding at his home."

"Then?"

Professor McGonagall wagged her hands. "Until we know what the Ministry plans to do, we cannot do much. The Order does not have the resources to be proactive. Then there is also the difficulty in contacting Henry. He was in and out of the Weasleys house in the blink of an eye according to Molly. He didn't say a word about where he was hiding. He is the key to anything we do and we don't know where he is anymore then the Ministry."

Maggie stared at her mother for several long seconds. She made a face as she ultimately stood. Minerva watched in curiosity as she closed all of the parlour windows and drew together the drapes.

"Are all the security charms in place?" Maggie finally asked.

"Of course," Professor McGonagall replied. "I checked them just this morning. Why?"

Sighing, Maggie sat down across from her. "You're going to kill me."

"I have managed not to kill a teenager in forty years of teaching," she pointed out. "That speaks volumes about my restraint."

With slightly trembling hands, Maggie undid her top buttons. Steeling herself, she opened her blouse exposing the small marble obelisk that rested against her chest. Leaning forward, her mother stared at the pendant for several long seconds before reaching out with two fingers easing it a few millimeters from her daughter's breast. She gently rubbed the rose-coloured obelisk with her thumb feeling the onyx letters embedded in it. After a moment, she released it and leaned back into her sofa.

"Say something," Maggie demanded anxiously when the silence lengthened uncomfortably.

"I was your age when I fell in love with Albus," Professor McGonagall said quietly.

Maggie blinked in complete surprise. Not one of her imagined scenarios had her mother reacting calmly. "You're…you're not angry?"

Minerva rubbed her forehead. "Margaret Rhoswen," she began slowly. She started to say more but sighed instead.

"I'm not sorry," Maggie defiantly stated.

"No, no," Professor McGonagall agreed. "I'm certain that you are not but I'm also certain that you cannot comprehend how much danger that you would be in if this becomes known to Voldemort. Who have you and Henry told?"

"We didn't tell anyone," Maggie replied. "But Hermione knows. She saw Henry's pendant and recognized it for what it was or, at least, she did after some research."

"She's an amazing intelligent young woman," Professor McGonagall said.

"Yes," Maggie concurred. "And a true friend. She's kept our secret."

"So many secrets these days," Minerva said vaguely. She shook her head then continued briskly. "For all of the peripheral ramifications, this does solve the major problem of communicating with Henry."

"And"

"And?"

"Are you simply going to ignore what the pendants mean to Henry and me, for Henry and Me?" Maggie asked.

Professor McGonagall took her daughter's hands into hers. "I am beginning to think that I have disappointed you by not ranting and raving like a mad woman," she said with a smile. "Some things are simply fated. You and Henry seemed to be one of those. To shatter your illusions further, despite your youth, I believe that you and Henry will be very happy together."

"We will be."

"We just have to ensure that the two of you stay alive to be so," Professor McGonagall added darkly.

"You are a ray of sunshine, mother," Maggie replied ironically.

"Until you see Voldemort in his grave with his throat cut and a stake driven through his heart, paranoia, vigilance, and fear best be your closest companions," stated Minerva empathically. "He and his followers have no mercy, no compassion, and no shame. They would obliterate your mind and destroy your body to get what they wanted from you without a second thought as to your age or your sex."

Maggie shuddered, thinking about the atrocities that the Death Eaters committed over the years. "I'll keep that in mind."

Professor McGonagall nodded soberly. "You do that, dearest one. I could not bear to lose you."

"I'll do what I can to spare you that," Maggie replied attempting some levity.

"That's a darlin' lass," Professor McGonagall responded in kind. "Can you contact Henry, not at this moment mind you but anytime you wish?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where he is at any given time?" she asked. "Or do the texts exaggerate?"

"No, they don't," Maggie told her. "I can sense him much the length of Britain, now. Right at this moment, Henry's-"

Professor McGonagall stopped her with a raised hand. "For the time being, keep that to yourself, just to be safe."

"Yes, mother."

"Good," Professor McGonagall heartily said as she rose from her sofa. "Let's go to Albus and see if the Ministry Lilliputians still have him tied down."

A careworn Albus Dumbledore was alone busily packing books and papers into a trunk when the McGonagalls walked up into his office. The many portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses still covered the walls but otherwise the chamber was as barren as an unused classroom. The many machines and devices were gone as was most of his personal library and Fawkes the phoenix.

"How are you feeling?" Albus asked in concern and he quickly strode to his fiancée's side.

"I'm fine, Albus," she replied accepting the light kiss he bestowed on her cheek. "You and Poppy don't need to treat me like I was made of eggshell."

He started to speak but Minerva continued forcefully. "And don't you dare apologize again. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was," he gloomily replied before glancing at Maggie. "Have you…uh?"

"Aye, she has, Father," Maggie said. "You should have asked her years ago but that's beside the point. We're going to be a family and that's all that matters."

"Father," Dumbledore echoed slowly. He looked at the tiny girl for several moments before he knelt taking her hands into his own. "I once had a family. I had a wife and two little daughters but I made a dog's breakfast of it. I will not allow that to happen again. I swear on my life and my honour that I will be a proper husband to your mother and as good a father as I possible can be to you."

Maggie pulled her hands free and wrapped her arms around him. "I know you will," she said happily.

Minerva dabbed at a suddenly misty eye as the two people she loved most embraced.

"Don't you cry, love or I'll fall apart myself," Albus chided merrily before sweeping Maggie off her feet and swinging her about. Laughing joyfully, he planted an ardent kiss on Minerva's mouth.

"It's time for elevens, Albus," Minerva said. "Come down to our apartment for some tea."

Albus sat Maggie back onto the floor. He sighed looking about his nearly bare office. "I'm almost done."

"Albus, come to tea," Minerva repeated. "There is nothing here that cannot wait a few more minutes."

The Headmaster frowned. He caught the slight added emphasis that she placed on her request. Something was afoot.

"Of course, my dove," he said.

Albus took a hand from mother and daughter. Silently they walked through the corridors. They met no one save the Bloody Baron who saluted the Headmaster gravely. Dumbledore nodded in return.

Professor McGonagall did a quick recheck of the security charms as soon as she shut the apartment door. Satisfied with their strength, she pointed to a sofa.

"Please be sitting, Albus," she said.

"You're up to something," Professor Dumbledore replied as he sat.

"Not me but our lovesick daughter," she replied. "Maggie, if you would."

For the second time that morning, Maggie revealed the pendant.

When the Headmaster realized what it was, he leaped to his feet, whooping with joy. "Yes, yes, yes!"

"This puts her in much danger," Professor McGonagall pointed out.

"Yes, yes it does," Professor Dumbledore soberly agreed. "The Order will have to protect her as it would Henry himself but it does solve our biggest problem."

The Headmaster sat back down, his mind racing. The pendant did solve the major issue of communicating with the hiding Henry. A host of other problems yet remained. The Minister for Magic considered Dumbledore to be a greater threat then the Dark Lord. Albus did not wish to fight the Ministry despite their treatment of him. Ultimately, they were battling the same foe. Whatever actions they took, they needed to be careful of not arousing the curiosity or animosity of the Ministry,

As for Voldemort, until they could get a true measure of his strength, it would be folly to confront him directly. Professor Dumbledore thought that he was still relatively weak himself but it could be just a ruse to lure the Order into annihilation fighting a battle they were not prepared to fight.

"Let's leave tomorrow's problems for tomorrow," he finally said aloud.

"And today?" Minerva asked.

"I seemed to remember being offered some tea," Albus replied with a smile.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_In which our hero lays the foundation for the future_

Until today, Mr Granger had never been to the Isle of Man so both the hired SUV that he was driving and the country lane, which he was travelling along, were unfamiliar to him. Subsequently, he consciously increased his normal caution. He steadfastly remained below the speed limit and kept a sharp eye out for possible hazards. The six passengers had no concerns. They were safe as they stared out at the beautiful green rolling hills that were basking under the warm summer sun. Pied wagtails darted overhead as the car cruised through lush leas while a capricious breeze tugged gently at the grasses and caressed the gorse and sheep's bit that grew along aside the road. Occasionally, as the car rose to the top of a knoll, they would catch a glimpse of the endlessly undulating waves of the Irish Sea.

Mr Granger glanced in his rear view mirror. On the seat directly behind him, Mrs Dumbledore was leaning over to her husband, pointing at something in a meadow to their left. Mr Dumbledore, until recently the headmaster at his daughter Hermione's school, nodded at his new bride. Mr Granger did not quite understand the convoluted politics behind Albus Dumbledore's ouster but it warmed his heart to see the obvious love that the two elderly professors shared. It was proof that the heart need not grow cold as the years advanced; that romance knew no age. Reflexively, he reached over to his own wife sitting next to him and squeezed her hand. His reward was a brilliant smile that flashed the message of the deep love that they shared.

After returning the smile, Mr Granger stole another quick peek in the mirror. Hermione had some of the startlingly animated photographs from the Dumbledore wedding but the couple now bore little resemblance to them. Gone were the pointed hats and robes. Instead, both were dressed in conservative, casual muggle fashion. Mrs Dumbledore wore a lightweight, grey, textured, drop shoulder jacket with a white blouse and a long navy blue skirt. Dark blue kitten heels adorned her feet. Her thick silver hair cascaded from under a wide brim hat to her shoulders. Her husband was unrecognizable from the photographs. He was clean-shaven with closely cropped hair. In place of robes, he wore black trousers and a long sleeved grey shirt. Despite the warmth of the day, he carried with him a black windbreaker. A black and white _Swansea City AFC_ cap sat on his head. Only the half-moon spectacles were the same.

Hermione was on the rearmost bench sitting between her friends, Maggie and Chris. Mr Granger had been uncertain about Hermione attending Hogwarts when the invitation given to her. Witchcraft, after all, carried a negative connotation in his world but the undeniable truth was that his previously lonely, discontented daughter found happiness at the strange academy deep in the Scottish highlands. Her letters to them bubbled over with the joy of her new friendships even more then the interesting challenges of learning _Ars Magica. _ The missives, delivered by owls, had name after name of her classmates who included her in their activities, conversations, and outings, a situation that was light-years from the ostracism that she encountered at her old primary school. She even mentioned a boyfriend in the last term's letters although she did take pains to assure them that they need not fear becoming grandparents. Even more then the boyfriend, the name that cropped up more often then any other was that of Chris Gallatin, Henry Porter and Maggie McGonagall now Dumbledore.

Mr Granger forced down a shudder, struggling to push aside his skittishness about Maggie. While her parents honeymooned on the continent, Maggie spent the last six weeks at the Granger's home in Oxford. He came to know that Hermione's description of her as a moral, decent girl was accurate and that she was a very good friend to Hermione. Furthermore, Maggie proved to be polite, articulate, helpful, and even at times surprisingly humorous but for reasons that he could not put a finger on, she unnerved Mr Granger. He knew about her having Turner Syndrome from Hermione's letters therefore, she having the body of a little girl did not surprise him but when she spoke, it was evident that she was a young woman yet there was an ethereal, almost eerie air about her. Mrs Granger jokingly called her Wednesday which Maggie and Hermione found hilarious but the elfin young woman reminded Mr Granger more of Claudia, the eternal girl vampire from the Anne Rice novel. That the tiny, frequently melancholy, raven-haired, extremely fair-skinned girl with the unreadable droopy blue eyes had a tendency to move about silent as a ghost only reinforced that impression.

Mr Granger returned his attention back to the road scrutinizing the surrounding countryside before asking no one in particular, "We haven't missed the turn, have we?"

"No, we haven't," Maggie replied. "It should be about a half of a mile ahead. You'll see four sessile oaks on the left with an unpaved lane running between them. That's where we will turn."

"Oh. I hadn't realised that you had been here before," Mr Granger said.

"I haven't," answered Maggie.

"Crystal balls are so useful," Hermione said with a straight face.

"I see," Mr Granger replied slowly uncertain how to take her statement.

Hermione chuckled. "That was a joke, Dad. The directions were in the letter last week, remember."

Mr Granger smiled back at his daughter. "I remember north of Peel on the Isle of Man but after a week of root canals and cavities, I'm lucky to have remembered that much."

Professor Dumbledore leaned forward. "I want to thank you again for agreeing to come with us. It is more helpful then you know."

Mrs Granger turned halfway around in her seat. A frown creased her brow when she spoke to the Dumbledores. "It is our pleasure. We needed a break anyway but I still don't quite understand the need for such subterfuge."

Mrs Dumbledore shook her head in frustration. "I'm sure that in your practice you have had the odd patient that simply would not listen to you as you tried to help him."

Mr Granger laughed. "Were that it was only the odd patient."

Mrs Dumbledore smiled slightly at his jest. "There is a peril within our community but the Minister for Magic chooses to ignore it. He rather spent his time and energies suppressing those of us who are pointing out the danger then confront the danger itself."

"Typical politician," Mr Granger snorted.

"Therefore we must do what is needed in the shadows or with some misdirection," Professor Dumbledore continued. "All the while appearing as if we have accepted the limits placed on us."

"I can understand that," Mrs Granger said. "But how does travelling with us further your purpose?"

"First and foremost, this trip is our way of thanking you for watching after Maggie," Minerva Dumbledore replied.

"It was our pleasure," Mrs Granger said gaily. "She's a dear, sweet girl and made the summer away from the rest of her friends bearable for Hermione."

"Bearable," Minerva repeated before she sighed. "I cannot imagine how difficult it will be for the muggleborns and half and half's to try to adjust to life outside of Hogwarts. At least some of them have been offered places at some of the other magic academies."

"To put it bluntly, it sucks," Chris said angrily. "And breaking our wands was low."

"Crushed doesn't begin to describe how I feel," Hermione mournfully said. "If Maggie hadn't been spending the summer with me, I'd been crying all day, everyday instead of just at night. A comprehensive is going to be so boring after Hogwarts."

Maggie hugged Hermione tightly. She shared her friend's pain. She along with several other pureblood kids would not be returning to Hogwarts either. What the immediate future held for her she was not certain. What was certain was that Henry was up to something although he would not tell her what his exact plans were only that the answer was at the end of the lane.

"It's disgusting," Mrs Granger snapped. "Expelling kids for no other reason then background. Hermione has the ability to do magic. What does it matter if her parents can not?"

"It should not," Albus sadly agreed. "But there's no explaining prejudice." He shook his head once as if to dispel the gloom then continued in a brighter voice. "As to travelling with you, it's twofold. Among Cornelius Fudge's blind spots is a patronising attitude toward muggles. In his mind if we are in the company of muggles than we cannot be up to some nefarious purpose and we took care to let the Ministry know where we were going and with whom we were travelling."

"Because ordinary folk can't do magic they're useless," Mr Granger supplied.

"To his way of thinking, yes," Albus replied. "But the second and most important purpose in travelling with you is that Minerva and I enjoy your good company. There are the oaks."

Mrs Granger beamed back at the Dumbledores as her husband slowed then turned onto the lane. What purpose the road served he could not guess. There was nothing around; no houses, sheds, or fences. It meandered through an empty meadow dotted with the occasional tree before disappearing in a gap between several hills but he followed it faithfully. If his daughter knew enough to turn herself into a fox, he was certain that she was smart enough to remember directions.

The SUV took a long, lazy turn through the gap and came upon large, level plateau.

"There's Hagrid," Maggie exclaimed waving at the huge man walking down the hillside. The half-giant returned the waves.

Hundreds of brightly coloured tents sat in long neat rows from where the lane more or less petered out to the base of the hills. It had the festive air of a medieval faire. Scores of people were out and about laughing and talking as succulent aromas from dozens of grills floated tantalisingly on the breeze. A quidditch match was in progress at the far end of the meadow.

"I wonder where we can find Ron and Ginny? Chris asked humorously when he spied the broom riders.

"Probably in one of these tents surrounded by books," Hermione said in a deadpan voice.

"They do like to get a jump on the next term," Maggie giggled hopping out of the car.

"So that's quidditch," Mrs Granger said as she exited the car. "It doesn't look all that exciting."

"People flying about on broomsticks are dull," Mr Granger joked. "My, haven't we gotten blasé about magic over the last four years."

"Is that you, Headmaster?" Sirius Black asked striding toward the car in the company of Barbara Thane and Albus' great-great-grandson, Erik Tonsberg.

"Yes, it's me, Sirius," Albus answered sliding out of the car with a slight grunt and shaking Sirius' extended hand. "Hello, Barbara, always a pleasure to see you. Erik I must say I'm surprised but pleased to find you here."

"I've been helping out with the finances of Balleycabbyl, Grandfather," Erik replied. They had agreed that grandfather was the simplest form of address.

"Don't believe him, Headmaster. As muggles would say, he is the financial wizard behind Balleycabbyl. We could not have moved as quickly as we have without him," Sirius said expansively. "So what happened? Did you meet Delilah?"

"A new life called for a new look, I thought," answered Albus. "And Minerva approves of it."

"You look decades younger," Sirius said. "Welcome to Balleycabbyl."

"Thank you," Professor Dumbledore replied. He quickly introduced him to Mr and Mrs Granger.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Sirius said. "I think you'll find what we're doing here very interesting. We have tents set up for all of you."

"Thank you," Mrs Granger said politely. "But is there an inn nearby?"

A tall, very pregnant woman wearing a long yellow dress that complemented her Sepia-coloured skin perfectly approached the group. "I know what you're thinking," she said with a lyrical West Indian accent. "But peek inside before to run off in search of an inn. I was dubious at first myself but magic tents are rather surprising."

"My wife, Eve," Sirius supplied.

"And I cannot do magic either." she added lightly. "So don't feel alone here."

"That's good," Mrs Granger said. "So do these magic tents have a loo?"

"And showers, real beds, couches, kitchens, and every other comfort," Eve said. "Right this way, Mrs Granger."

"Please call me Mary," Mrs Granger said falling into step with the carefully moving Mrs Black. "Be back soon," she added over her shoulder.

Professor Dumbledore scanned the vast meadow walled by hills on three sides. The fourth side were cliffs that dropped down to the sea. It was picturesque several hundred acres of thick grass and small groves of trees. From where they stood the waves crashing onto the shore far below the cliffs could be heard faintly. Even with all of the tents, there was plenty of open meadow left.

"It very lovely," Minerva Dumbledore said circling around the car with Hermione and Maggie. "But what is Balleycabbyl?

"Good Morning," Henry said walking up to them with Arthur Weasley. Maggie, surprising everyone but Henry did not launch herself into his arms. She hugged him once after planting a gentle kiss on his lips. She did, remain resolutely at Henry's side as he greeted his cousin and Hermione.

"As to what Balleycabbyl is, it's our future," Sirius intoned earnestly.

"I'm listening," Albus said.

"There's an odd quirk." Arthur Weasley began. "As you know, under muggle law, the Isle of Man isn't a part of the United Kingdom or Ireland."

"Yes, I know that," Albus replied curious as to where the conversation was heading.

"It doesn't full under the jurisdiction of the British Ministry for Magic either," Sirius said as a huge smile split his face.

"Of course it does," Albus replied confidently. "All the British Isles do."

"No, it doesn't" answered Arthur Weasley. "When the Wizards Council morphed into the Ministry for Magic there were no Manx representatives present. Legally, the Ministry has no jurisdiction here."

"Trust me; a dozen of us pored over every pertinent document and I even consulted with Professor Binns," Sirius added. "Cornelius Fudge has no more legal authority on the Isle of Man then he does on the isle of Manhattan. It never came up because there were never more then a dozen or so wizards living on the island."

Albus glanced over to his wife. She gave her head a slight shake but like her husband, her pulse increased as she realised the potential of such a situation.

"What we are doing is building both a village and a magic academy here," Henry said. "Sirius and I and a few others with the means have established a corporation that has purchased this land and will build what is needed."

"The Ministry will simply move to have Man placed under its control," Albus pointed out.

Sirius shook his head. "Each tent is a wizarding family that has established residence here on Man. That's two hundred and twelve families with four hundred and fifty seven witches and wizards of legal age. For all intensive purposes, we are the wizarding community on Man."

"Yesterday, I filed the paperwork with the International Confederation of Wizards seeking recognition for us as an independent magical community," Arthur said.

"The British Ministry will have to go before the ICW to get jurisdiction," Sirius continued. "A task made difficult in the face of our prior claim and the fact that they hadn't bothered to do so in three hundred years."

"The Death Eaters won't worry about legalities," Minerva argued.

"No, they won't," Arthur agreed. "And Balleycabbyl won't have a thousand years worth of enchantments protecting it like Hogwarts but we'll have over four hundred witches and wizards living here. That's a lot of wands to face."

Hermione and Chris looked stricken at the mention of wands. Henry bestowed a sad, commiserative smile on them before speaking. "We can begin construction in the spring," he said. "In the meantime, if we can use tents as classrooms and dormitories, we can start classes in September."

"I'd live in a cave if it meant I could continue my education," Hermione declared passionately as Chris let out a whoop of pure joy.

Arthur chuckled. "We can do you a bit better than that. The tents are quite comfortable even in severe weather."

"School in tents?" asked Mr Granger

"Buildings don't make a school," Chris said. "A school is dedicated teachers and passionate students, Mr Granger. Plato taught in the markets of Athens. Confucius taught his students as they wandered about China. The hedge teachers in Ireland usually taught in barns."

Mr Granger smiled. "I like this kid."

Henry nodded. "He's a bit of all right for an Arsenal supporter."

"There are still a dozen or so problems to be worked out," Sirius said. "Such as feeding all the students and transporting them here but I'm confident we can do this. It will be easier if people know that you are on board, Headmaster."

Albus' brow puckered in thought. "Is there a place we can sit and talk?"

"Where have my manners gone? Forgive me, everyone," Arthur said contritely. "Molly has refreshments prepared for all of you in our tent. Follow me, please. Oy, Hagrid! We're going to my tent."

""I'll be there directly," Hagrid yelled back from across the field.

Thirty minutes later after everyone had eaten the light lunch that Molly Weasley had prepared, Sirius again raised the question of Albus Dumbledore assuming leadership of Balleycabbyl.

"No," Professor Dumbledore said firmly.

A chorus of whats and whys assailed him until he held up a hand. "If I am put forth as a candidate for either the headmastership of the school or the Manx Minister for Magic, both Fudge and Voldemort will come after us immediately with everything in their arsenal, legal or otherwise and Balleycabbyl will die aborning."

"What do you suggest, Headmaster?" Sirius asked.

A tired smile creased Professor Dumbledore's mouth. "First, get into the habit of calling me Albus or Mr Dumbledore. Secondly, let it be known that I have been pushed out of any leadership position. Drop a flea into the right ears that the consensus was that my day had past and it was time for new people to step forward. Reluctantly, out of respect for my past contributions, I have been given permission to live here as long as I don't make a nuisance out of myself."

Eyes darted back and forth, as everyone silently debated the proposal. Arthur cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Headmas…Albus," he began hesitantly. "Why would Fudge and Voldemort believe such a thing?"

"Because they will want to," he replied. "They will gloat over my humiliation because they want me humiliated."

"No, Albus," Sirius disagreed. "They will not believe that we would turn you out like that. Why should they even if it is their fondest dream?"

"They'll believe it because of Balleycabbyl," Albus replied.

"You lost me there," Sirius admitted

"Me, too," Arthur chimed in.

Albus laughed gently. "I had nothing to do with Balleycabbyl and when it becomes known, the Ministry and the Death Eaters will know this to be true. A new generation of leaders has emerged leaving Old Dumbledore behind."

"Oh come, sir, that's not how it is at all," Sirius protested fervently.

Albus laughed again, this time more merrily. "Quod erat demonstrandum. The facts speak for themselves. Sirius, you, Arthur, and young Henry here with the aid of Erik's financial acumen have conceived and laid the foundation for Balleycabbyl in what? Four weeks? Six? That's leadership. Attacking a problem and getting results. In truth, this could not have worked out better for me."

Puzzled looks shot across the table

"Are you going to let us in on that secret?" asked Sirius after a moment.

The smile vanished from Dumbledore's face. His tone was grave when he spoke. "Arthur, do you remember that old diary that your daughter found in her book bag."

"Yes, that was what? Two or three years ago? Ginny handed over to me because she thought that it accidentally got into her bag and didn't want anyone to think that she had stolen it," Arthur replied. "I gave it to you because I could tell that there was magic about it but didn't know what it was exactly. Did you figure it out?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "It was Tom Riddle's diary from a time when he was a student at Hogwarts."

"Tom Riddle's," exclaimed Molly. "Oh my, if Ginny hadn't gave it to us."

"Nothing good would have come from it to be sure," Minerva said.

"Beyond being Tom Riddle's diary, it was a horcrux," Albus continued. "I destroyed the book but it was become readily that Voldemort has created several horcruxes. I need to track them down; a task made easier if I am not caught up in the day-to-day flotsam of administrating a school or a ministry."

Henry, Sirius, and Arthur glanced at each other in question before Henry shrugged. "Very well, sir, we'll do as you say but we'd like you and Mrs Dumbledore to hire the faculty. Are you going to continue teaching, Mrs Dumbledore?"

"If not, will you be the Headmistress?" asked Sirius.

"It's your decision, love," Albus said quietly when she looked to him for his opinion.

Minerva tapped her jaw with a forefinger as she thought about the offer. "Headmistress, I think," she finally said.

"Then that's settled," Arthur said happily.

"Not quite," Henry said.

Several pairs of surprised eyes turned toward him but Henry looked only at Minerva Dumbledore. "Are you blocking my appointment, Henry?" she asked archly.

"No, ma'am," he replied. "But Mrs Black said something that made a lot of sense to me and I think you should hear her ideas about the new school."

"I'm always open hearing what parents of students have to say," Minerva said. "James should be nearing the right age to begin his studies."

"Next year," Sirius said. "This is one of the reasons for starting this school. He cannot attend Hogwarts now."

"What was your idea, Mrs Black?' Minerva asked.

"Eve, please. It's simple really," Eve Black began. "The curriculum needs modernising."

"How so?" Minerva asked.

"The world is changing rapidly," Eve said. "Since my marriage to Sirius, I've noticed that it is coming more and more difficult for magic folk to remain hidden. A goodly part of that is because so many have no idea about how the rest of the world lives."

"And you suggest what exactly?" Minerva asked.

"To take their place within British society, our children need to know what the other children know," Mrs Black explained. "They need to be able to sit for the GCSE and A-levels as well as for OWLS and NEWTS. They need to know mathematics and computers and literature as well as hexes."

"Granted most of the students here will be either muggleborn or half and half and they'll have a lot of basic knowledge but such a curriculum will open doors for them that the Hogwarts curriculum would not," Henry said. "Just to give you an example of what I mean Nottingham Trent University has an Equine Sports Science programme in which I am interested. To get into that, I need among other things an A-level in science."

"You may remember all the trouble my brother David had getting into Sandhurst," Barbara said. "It took him two years of intense study to pass the examination just because he lacked the basic knowledge that the muggle kids learn routinely."

"One of the reasons that I am here in the UK now us because in Australia we did learn those subjects at GVD along with the magic," Erik added. "There were no obstacles when I decided to read economics at university because the necessary grades and course work were a matter of public record already."

"Madame Maxine is looking to update Beauxbatons," Hagrid chimed in. "She's gone to Canada and America this summer to consult with the schools over there."

Minerva leaned back into her chair lost in thought. The proposal was something that she had been reflecting on for the last several years herself. She purposefully exposed Maggie to as much of the muggle world as she could so that she would not be ignorant of it but she knew of many children, usually those from pureblood families that had no clue as to the world beyond their own insular community. They did not have televisions or read muggle newspapers. They did not drive. They did not fly. They were on the cusp of the twenty-first century yet they lived as their ancestors had. To go into their homes one would think that George II was still on the throne instead of Elizabeth II.

Hogwarts was far too tradition bound to allow for change. The prevailing attitude of most of the board of governors was that if it was good enough for Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin then it was more then good enough for them. They were happy with the status quo as had been their grandfathers and their grandfathers' grandfathers. Indeed the last major change at Hogwarts was the introduction of indoor plumbing in 1931 and that came about only after a heated debate that lasted twenty-seven years.

"If you're thinking we would be placing too much on the students consider how many of the magic courses and ordinary courses could be taught together," Eve said. "Arithmancy could be taught along with higher mathematics. Astronomy is all ready part of the GCSE. We just need to add physics to it. Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures can be incorporated into Biology; Potions into Chemistry. Magic and muggle history can be taught together. Literature, Art, Music would have to be stand-alone courses, as would Transfiguration, DADA, and Charms. Moreover, they have to know how to use computers. There is no way around that in this new world. Computers are ubiquitous today."

Minerva smiled. "You have put much thought into this I see."

"I have a son and soon a daughter that will someday have to take their place in a rapidly changing world," said Eve. "I want to do all I can to prepare them for that day."

"I concur," Minerva said firmly. "The difficulty lies in designing the curriculum and finding the necessary teachers. I think it unlikely to be able to do that this school year."

"Actually, Headmistress," Barbara replied. "Eve, Molly, and I have all ready done some preliminary work in that direction."

"We have compiled a list of teachers in the needed fields," Eve began. "Experienced teachers who have married into the wizarding community. We especially sought those with children who now cannot attend Hogwarts. I think that they would be receptive to teaching here."

"Everyone here has been busy, haven't they?" laughed Minerva. "By the way Barbara, when are you going to apply for the position of school matron?"

"I would like the job if you don't mind my relative lack of experience," said Barbara.

"You're hired but I don't know what your pay packet will look like yet," Minerva said. "Criminey, there's a thousand details. Do we have any owls? We have many students to contact. We need to bring a wand maker here. We need textbooks. We need a library. Does anyone have a list of the muggleborns that would have been first years?"

"Calm down, dearest," Albus chuckled. "You can do this if you keep your head about you."

"Thank you," she replied. "Yes, I know but there is so much to do in such a short time."

"We have a committee," Molly said. "We've been working on a few things in the last month. We've been meeting over in Eve's tent. All of the paperwork connected with Balleycabbyl College is there. "

"Balleycabbyl College," Albus mused. "It has a nice ring to it."

"Yes, it does," his wife agreed.

"Better than Hogwarts," added Hermione.

"Will you call the committee together?" asked Minerva. "We shall see where we stand and get our priorities listed."

"Certainly, Headmistress," Eve said rising from the table. "Come with me."

"I'll take care of the dishes if you wish to go on with them, Molly," Arthur said. "Sirius spread out the plans for the school and village. Let's bring Albus and our other guests up-to-date."

A full moon hung over the small rocky beach where all of Balleycabbyl's teenagers gathered for an impromptu party. Several couples were dancing to rock music blaring from a large, battery-operated cd player. Others were roasting sausages over flames that crackled cheerfully in a ring of stone. A few others were making out on blankets laid discretely beyond the halo of firelight.

Henry, with a jacket draped around his shoulders, walked with Maggie along the shore until the beach ended. They stopped and savoured the moment. It was a warm, still night with only the faintest of breezes to caress their faces. The moon hung on the horizon bathing the ocean in its light. They could not hear the voices of their friends and the music so loud up close was only a dull distant sound easily overpowered by the sound rolling waves.

"You should be proud of yourself, Henry," Maggie said.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why? Balleycabbyl, of course, silly," replied Maggie. "I spoke with Hagrid, Mr Weasley and Mr Black. They told me how much of all of this your doing was; about how driven you are about the school."

She felt has sudden discomfort as he picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water. "I had to do something to atone."

"Atone for what," Maggie asked. "None of what happened was your fault."

"Yes, it was," Henry countered forcefully. "I panicked and gave Fudge all the excuse he needed to take over Hogwarts. I thought that I was so smart walking out of the maze like that. I was going to show them that they couldn't push me around. Yeah, so damn smart. Because of my stupidity, half the teachers lost their jobs and a lot of kids were expelled. Chris was on the verge of tears when he told me about the Ministry bastards taking his wand and snapping it into four pieces in front of him."

Maggie rested her head against his arm as she snaked a hand around Henry's waist. "Have you ever paused to consider the alternative?"

"What alternative?" he asked curiously.

"If you had continued on with the third task," Maggie replied. "The Tournament Cup was a portkey snuck in by a minion of the Dark Lord. They found Barty Crouch Jr's corpse in a cemetery where someone murdered him in a ritualistic manner. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to guess who was that someone. If you had gone ahead, it would have been you in that cemetery facing Voldemort."

"Or one of the other champions," Henry said as the wind began to blow harder.

"Lay aside the modesty for once, Henry," chuckled Maggie. "None of the others had a chance and you know it. You were miles ahead of them in ability."

"Maybe."

"No maybe about it," Maggie asserted. "But taken by surprise, dropped into the middle of a bunch of Death Eaters, it would have been your corpse found among the tombstones and the only real obstacle in Voldemort's path to domination would have been gone. Whatever the temporary ramifications are, they are preferable that alternative."

"Perhaps, I mean, yeah, looking at it that way," Henry replied. "But still I put a lot of people through a lot of trouble because I lost my head."

"And I have yet to hear anyone blame you," Maggie said. "Fudge, certainly. Umbridge, Voldemort, The Daily Prophet, yes, but not Henry Porter."

Henry laughed ruefully. "Henry Porter. Even that was lost. Everyone knows who I am now."

"I seem to remember you saying once that you were Henry Porter and that it did not matter what name you had at birth," Maggie countered.

Henry laughed loudly then took Maggie into his arms, kissing her soundly. "I can never feel sorry for myself with you around."

"Self-pity is a worthless emotion as I have come to know," Maggie said. "Deal with what is not with what-might-have-been."

"I've been trying."

"You've been succeeding," Maggie replied. "I am convinced that Balleycabbyl College will be better than Hogwarts. In a very few years, Hogwarts will be playing catch-up with us and the Ministry will have egg on its face for what they did. We will triumph, Henry. You will triumph."

Henry shook his head and sighed. "Triumph. Conquering Hero. Adoration of the masses. The stuff of dreams supposedly but still all I want to do is marry you, have a family, and raised horses."

"And we will someday," Maggie assured him. "Peace will come to us someday. In the meantime, we must do what we must to bring that day about."

"Yeah, I know," Henry drawled. "Well, let's get on back."

"Let me have your jacket first," Maggie said. "I'm getting a bit chilled."

Henry took the jacket from his shoulders and held it out for her to slip her arms in. As she spun around his hand slid across her chest.

"Sorry." He said yanking his hand back.

Maggie smiled, took his hand and pressed it against her chest. He could feel the smallest of swellings beneath the thin fabric of her blouse.

"Change is in the air, Henry Porter," she whispered.

Henry kissed her tenderly before taking her hand. "Small changes seem to have the biggest impact on my life," he mused as they turned their steps toward their friends at the other end of the beach.


End file.
